Quidditch House Rivals
by Zeplerfer
Summary: Alfred's ambition is to become the best Quidditch player at Hogwarts, even if he has to join Slytherin House and go broom-to-broom with the handsome Gryffindor seeker to do it. USUK. Pottertalia.
1. The Sorting Hat

**Rating:** T for teenage antics (snogging, drinking, and sports injuries).

**Main Pairing:** USUK with Slytherin!Alfred and Gryffindor!Arthur. Yep, you've read that correctly. The whole point of this story is to flip their houses while keeping both (mostly) in-character.

**Side Pairing:** Franada with fem!Canada.

* * *

**Chapter I: The Sorting Hat**

Alfred F. Jones was going places. In a physical sense, he was on the Hogwarts Express, prepared to start his 6th year of magical studies. In a metaphorical sense, he was on his way to achieving his life-long ambition of becoming a world-renowned Quidditch player.

Ever since his parents bought him his first broomstick at age five, Alfred had dreamed of becoming a professional Quidditch player. As soon as he began his first year at the Salem Institute of Magic he joined the school team, quickly earning the coveted position of seeker (it hadn't been hard since most American students preferred Quodpot). But Alfred knew that his best odds for joining a professional team required playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, so he begged and pleaded with his parents to let him take advantage of the International Overseas Wizard League (O.W.L.) Program and transfer.

The first four years, they said no. He was still too young and his grades weren't good enough.

The fifth year, they finally relented and said he could transfer, but only if he scored an Outstanding in at least four of his classes.

To their great surprise, Alfred met that goal. Although he had always been an indifferent student, he found that he could do well when he really applied himself. Potions and Arithmancy had been easy Os, and he managed to squeak by in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures, mostly because the professors were so impressed by his improvement.

So his sixth year, with much hugging and kissing, he said goodbye to his parents at King's Cross train station as they wished him good luck during the school year. Alfred grabbed his bags, promised to write often, and waved a cheerful goodbye.

"Don't spend _all_ of your time on the Quidditch fields!" his mother admonished.

"And remember they fly on the left side here!" was his father's advice.

After finding Platform 9¾ exactly where he expected it (three-quarters between Platforms 9 and 10), Alfred weaved his way through the crowds and boarded the Hogwarts Express. A little too late, he realized that if he wanted an empty compartment, he should have arrived earlier. As the train wound its way through the countryside just north of London, he found himself walking past each compartment, finding that most were completely full or occupied by younger students. (He was _not_ about to start his awesome 6th Year with a bunch of hyper 11-year-olds).

Finally, Alfred spotted one with only two students. They both had their noses buried in a book, but at least they looked to be his age or older. Based on school colors, he could tell that the dark-haired Asian student was in Ravenclaw and the sandy blond one was in Gryffindor. Alfred opened the door and smiled widely. "Got room for one more?"

The Ravenclaw student looked up from his book and nodded.

"Thanks, man!" Alfred beamed and stored his luggage on the racks above the seats. He plopped down next to the dark-haired student and spent a few minutes gazing out the window as the English countryside rolled past. He grew bored after a few minutes, and leaned over to see what the Asian boy was reading so intently. It looked a bit like a comic book, but the student slammed it shut and pulled away.

"Kiku doesn't like it when people invade his personal space," the Gryffindor sitting across from them explained, his eyes briefly flickering up before returning to his own book.

"Sorry, dude." Alfred grinned apologetically and scooched to the edge of the seat to give the shy Ravenclaw more space. Kiku nodded in thanks. At that point, Alfred realized he had forgotten introductions. "My name's Alfred, by the way."

"Arthur," the Gryffindor crisply replied as he finally looked up from his book. Shocked, Alfred couldn't stop staring. He had never seen such monstrous eyebrows before in his life. Because of the way the boy had been hunched over as he read his book, Arthur's bangs had covered most of his forehead, hiding his eyebrows. It was like caterpillars were devouring the poor boy's forehead.

"Dude, do you need help removing that jinx?" Alfred exclaimed, pointing at Arthur's face. Arthur was a stranger, but it would be cruel to let anyone walk into Hogwarts with those eyebrows. Someone was clearly playing a cruel prank on the other boy.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "What jinx?" he asked suspiciously.

"Your eyebrows! They're jinxed... aren't they?"

The Gryffindor flushed and then glared. "There's nothing wrong with my eyebrows!" he replied hotly, his face a mask of embarrassment and irritation.

"Seriously?" Alfred stared in disbelief. He found it hard to believe that giant eyebrows could be the work of anything other than magic. The idea of large eyebrows tugged at his memory from something he'd seen in the Quidditch articles, but it had been only a passing reference, and he couldn't quite remember what it had said. He pulled himself back to the present just in time to hear the sputtering denial from the other blond student.

"Yes! They're perfectly normal. Now kindly shut up and stop being such a prat."

"Oh, okay," Alfred replied, since he didn't want to get kicked out of the compartment; he was tired of lugging around his bags. In fact, he was kind of hungry. He patted his pockets and pulled out a packet of Skittles, then opened the package noisily and started munching the rainbow-colored candies. He watched the countryside for a few more minutes, but it hadn't changed much in the past few minutes. Yep, England was still really green. After another few minutes, he broke the silence. "Hey, what's a prat?"

"You are," Arthur retorted.

"Well, if I'm a prat, then why do _you_ have the little badge with a 'P' on it?"

Arthur looked at Alfred like he was an idiot. "This is a prefect badge," he explained, speaking very slowly. "It means that I monitor student behavior. I can even deduct points from Houses." At Alfred's blank look, he sighed in exasperation. "_Please_ tell me you understand the House system."

"Yeah, yeah. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and... that other one. Whats-its-name. So, Prefect, huh? Basically you're a teacher's pet?"

Arthur returned to his book and refused to dignify Alfred's comment with a response.

Recognizing that he wasn't going to be able to draw Arthur and Kiku into a conversation, Alfred pulled his 3DS out of his luggage. If nothing else, at least he could finish a few more battles in Star Fox 64. He spent minutes poring over one of the battles, completely unable to finish it. He looked up in surprise when Kiku tapped the screen.

"Wanna give it a try?" Alfred asked. He handed over the console. Within seconds, Kiku beat the boss. Alfred watched in amazement as Kiku blazed his way through the game. He'd heard of a Star Fox speed run, but he'd never seen one before, and this boy would definitely set the record. The only problem was that Alfred was bored again and now he didn't have a video game for entertainment. He turned to look at Arthur and caught the Gryffindor boy staring at him from over the top of his book. Arthur's eyes quickly flickered back to his book and he pretended that he hadn't been caught staring. Alfred smiled and shifted seats so that he was sitting next to Arthur. He leaned over to read the book. It looked like the potions textbook he had used last year. "So, you're a fifth year, huh?" he asked.

Arthur frowned. "No."

"But that's a fifth-year book."

Kiku tapped the wall to catch Alfred's attention. He held up seven fingers then gestured to himself and Arthur.

Alfred frowned as he tried to reason why a seventh year would use a fifth year book. Suddenly, he realized the answer and laughed. "Dude! You've had to repeat the class… twice! You're officially the worst teacher's pet ever."

"God, you're such a prat," Arthur grumbled.

"How can I be a prat if I don't know that means?" Alfred countered.

"Quite easily," Arthur said as he flipped to the next page, continuing to frown as he read about aging potions (which made a person appear years older than their true age**—**very handy for underage drinking). Alfred remembered those as being easy-peasy (and very useful for underage wizards in the United States, with its stupid drinking age of 21). He wondered why the other student was having trouble with potions.

"Want any help?" the American offered, recognizing a potential way to alleviate his boredom. Although Arthur initially declined, he relented when Alfred pouted, pointed out that he received an Outstanding in Potions, and otherwise made it clear that accepting his help would be the only way to get him to stop prattling on.

They placed the book between them and covered the main potions. Alfred scribbled notes in the margins, pointing out places where you had to add an extra step to get the best result or ignore part of the instructions. It turned out that Arthur was a little _too_ meticulous in following the text, ignoring warning signs like a bubbling pot because he believed following the text was the only correct approach.

They happily passed an hour with their heads leaned together over the book. Alfred couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun studying. Arthur was a quick learner (and kinda cute, Alfred had to admit, even with the eyebrows); he just needed a nudge or two in the right direction.

They flipped the page to love potions and Alfred waggled his eyebrows. "The girls in my school were obsessed with these. The professor locked up the ingredients because they can be pretty dangerous. She always said 'It's bad enough having teenage hormones filling the air without extra potions to make it worse!'"

Arthur chuckled. "Our professors do the same thing."

Although they were called love potions, they couldn't actually create love**—**just very strong lust. And the only cure for a love potion was a hate potion. Hate potions reminded you of all the things you disliked about the other person, making it easier to get over ex-girlfriends or ex-boyfriends. They were brewed with the same ingredients as love potions, but in opposite order.

"Amortentia is the strongest one. It's pretty cool," Alfred explained. "Its aroma is different for everyone, and it changes based on what you find attractive." He laughed, remembering a funny story. "You know, I actually thought I mixed it wrong the first time because it smelled like something burnt."

Kiku dropped the video game console into his lap. The noise made Arthur and Alfred look up.

"Everything all right, Kiku?" Arthur asked.

Kiku quickly nodded. He pulled out his own Prefect badge and arched an eyebrow at Arthur.

"Oh, of course. Just a second." Arthur turned back to Alfred. "Kiku and I are in charge of patrolling the train corridors for the next hour," he explained with a touch of reject as he carefully stored his wand in his pocket. Alfred accepted the return of his video game console from the Ravenclaw student and waved goodbye. It was a long ride to Hogwarts, so he knew they'd have more time to chat later.

Munching on some of his snacks, Alfred returned to his last saved game and spent another half hour metaphorically banging his head against flight battles. He really needed to figure out Kiku's secret to playing the Fox character. About ready to give up on the game for the day, Alfred paused and looked up when he heard whispers outside the door.

"Yes, I'm sure this is the right compartment!" one voice whispered loudly.

Another voice replied, too quietly for Alfred to hear.

Alfred looked up at the door, not quite sure what to expect. As it opened, he saw three Slytherin students: an albino, a brunet, and a blond. He wondered if they sometimes walked into bars in order to set up the punch line for a joke. They were tall and handsome and their cocky grins and confident stride told the world that they were ready for mischief.

"Mmm, looks like we have some fresh meat," the blond purred with a French accent

"Kesesese, I think we should have some fun," added the albino.

"Si, I love fun!" the brunet cheerfully agreed.

Alfred gaped at the three Slytherin students as they took the empty seats. The albino and the dark-haired student sat together, while the Frenchman sat down next to Alfred and casually slung his arm across Alfred's shoulders. Alfred probably wouldn't have noticed it if he had met them one at a time, but taken together, he could easily identify the trio.

"Wow, you're on the Slytherin Quidditch team!" Alfred gushed. "Oh man, it's so cool to meet you guys. That was an awesome game you played last spring against Ravenclaw. It's pretty awesome to see a team win the game without catching the snitch."

The three shared a look. If Alfred was more perceptive, he would have realized that he had suddenly been reclassified from "prey" to "potential ally."

The albino grinned. "Finally, someone that recognizes my awesomeness!"

They introduced themselves as Francis, Antonio, and the awesome Gilbert and proceeded to brag about their Quidditch prowess and all of their glorious antics terrorizing Hogwarts. For the first time in centuries, their house had succeeding in accumulating more than a thousand negative points in the competition for the House Cup. They hadn't had a Prefect in _years_ because the Professors trusted none of them with a Prefect's powers. Alfred was suitably impressed. He lost track of time and didn't realize that an hour had passed until Arthur and Kiku returned.

Arthur glared furiously at the Slytherins. "What are you doing in my compartment?" he growled dangerously.

"Hey Arthur, meet Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis!" Alfred introduced his new friends.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I know who they are. For your information, they've spent years being absolute pests. And they have ten seconds to leave or I will hex them so thoroughly that they won't be able to sit for the next week."

The three stood up and casually exited the compartment. Francis winked. "Oh, Arthur, you know that if I had my way, you would be the one left unable to sit on your adorable derriere."

"Out!" Arthur sputtered and shoved Francis, showing a surprising amount of strength for his lean, short body.

"Arthur, _mon cher_, it is always a pleasure," Francis called as he stumbled out of the train cabin.

"The feeling is completely one-sided, I assure you." Arthur tried to slam the door shut, but Francis succeeded in wedging his foot into the gap.

Francis peeked in. "Alfred, you're welcome to come join us, if you would like."

Alfred glanced between the two, torn between his desire to get to know the Slytherin Quidditch team members and the powerful desire to continue tutoring Arthur in potions. But he knew that only one of those options would help him become a great Quidditch player, which was the whole point of coming to Hogwarts. He stood up and grabbed his luggage.

Arthur frowned, his scrunched eyebrows darkening his forehead as he watched Alfred leave. "Let me give you a bit of advice: your life will be much easier if you stay away from those three clowns."

"I like them. But, hey, it was nice to meet you two! Hopefully I'll see you again later."

"Don't count on it. I'm sure you'll be very happy with your new friends," Arthur said as he crossed his arms across his chest and scowled.

Alfred smiled apologetically and trailed behind Francis. He heard the door slam shut behind them.

* * *

Arthur stared at the empty seat next to him, trying to not feel upset that the younger blond student had so blatantly rejected him in favor of his arch-rivals. Alfred was attractive, friendly, and surprisingly good at potions. Arthur didn't understand why the young man would want to associate with the Slytherin pranksters. And for the life of him, he didn't know how Francis had managed to hook his claws into the lad so quickly.

Arthur contemplated returning to his study of potions (he really needed to finish the class this year or he would never graduate), but he decided to take a break for lunch; his mind was in too much of a muddle to manage to study at the moment. He ate his (delicious!) ham sandwich as he gazed out the window. Kiku resumed reading a book on the other side of the compartment, perfectly content to keep the silence. Their shared love of silent studying was one of the reasons Arthur liked spending time with Kiku. But for some reason, the compartment seemed even quieter now than usual.

Gentle hills and sparkling streams rolled past as Arthur leaned his forehead against the window and resisted the urge to sigh. He wasn't going to act like a lovesick fool because a handsome young man showed him some attention and then just as quickly deserted him. He had barely spent an hour with the boy! It would be ridiculous to be infatuated already. He just needed to get Alfred out of his head. Arthur reached for his potions book, but his hands met only thin air. He glanced under the seat to see if his book had fallen on the floor, finding nothing. He pulled out his wand and cast a summoning charm, then frowned when the book still didn't appear.

His frown turned to a glare as he realized that the book wasn't appearing because it had been _stolen_. And he knew who stole it. He had been wondering what the Slytherins were doing in his compartment.

Arthur stalked out of his compartment and followed the sound of annoying French laughter to his goal. Those three were the reason that Arthur hated the International O.W.L. Program. He didn't care about building an "international wizarding community." As far as Arthur was concerned, frogs were only useful as ingredients in a boiling pot.

Arthur pushed opened the compartment door. "Give it back," he demanded.

"Oh? You want what back, _mon cher_?" Francis smirked and draped his arm around Alfred's shoulders. The American looked somewhat surprised by the gesture, but he didn't push Francis off.

Arthur glared, refusing to be baited. "You are going to return my potions textbook this minute or I swear I will find a way to have you all kicked off your Quidditch team."

"If you need a book, I think I still have my fifth-year potions book around somewhere," Antonio suggested helpfully.

"Your potions book was a bunch of tomato recipes," Gilbert corrected.

"_Por supuesto_! Who needs potions when you have tomatoes?"

"_Kesesese_, mine was awesome beer recipes!"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Arthur. There is no need for such hostility. Would you care to join us?" Francis offered. He pulled to the edge of the seat and gestured at the small gap between him and Alfred.

Alfred gave Arthur his most welcoming smile and patted the seat. He wanted nothing better than to talk with the awesome Slytherin Quidditch players, but it had been fun spending time with Arthur too. It would be better if they got along. Alfred honestly didn't understand why Hogwarts students put so much emphasis on the house system. The Salem Institute didn't even have "houses," just dorms named after wealthy donors.

Francis winked. "Ménage à trois means that there's always room for one more, _mon lapin_."

Arthur flushed red, turned on his heels, and walked away.

"Moan the pan?" Alfred asked, trying to translate Francis's random French interjections. The older boy seemed to speak English just fine, but still sprinkled French into his conversations. Probably to annoy the non-Francophones.

Francis chuckled. "Non, 'lapin' means rabbit."

The three explained how a mistake with a polyjuice potion in their third-year had given Arthur rabbit ears for the rest of the day**—**a mistake they planned to let him never forget. Francis sighed wistfully as he described Arthur's adorably cute appearance, with flopping ears matching the color of his sandy hair. The French boy gave Alfred a sly look. "If I'm not mistaken, and I rarely am, I think our little rabbit is a bit taken with you."

Alfred laughed. "Why would you say that?"

Francis lifted up Arthur's textbook. "Because he left without his potions book."

* * *

Although the Hogwarts staff didn't make Alfred ride the boats with the first-years, he still had to line up for sorting. Alfred felt a little silly walking up to the Sorting Hat, since he was five years older and a good foot taller than the other students being sorted. Some of the girls giggled as he sat down on the too-short stool and placed the Hat on his head.

'I want to be in Slytherin!' Alfred told the Hat as soon as it touched his golden hair. He'd read that students had some choice in the sorting, but they had to think fast.

Alfred had studied the Hogwarts Quidditch teams very carefully over the past year, reading every story he could find about the different teams and games. Unfortunately, the school didn't broadcast its games on television, but Alfred could piece together a lot of information from reading news articles. The Ravenclaw team had some decent chasers, and Hufflepuff had the best keeper, but Gryffindor was the best overall team. Most importantly, they had the best seeker: Arthur Kirkland, who had led his team to Quidditch Cup victory for three years in a row.

Alfred could probably win a spot on the Gryffindor team, but he knew he wouldn't be able to replace Kirkland as seeker and he wasn't willing to sit on the sidelines if he couldn't have the most important role on the team. He decided that since he couldn't _join_ him, he'd have to _beat_ him. Slytherin had an excellent group of chasers and beaters (three of whom he had already met and liked), but a terrible seeker. Alfred could take the team to victory as its new seeker, and then he would definitely secure a professional Quidditch position when the scouts came to watch the cup match at Hogwarts. Nothing packed the seats like a Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match.

The Hat hesitated. 'Are you sure? Your bravery would be better placed in Gryffindor.'

Alfred shook his head. 'I'm going to become a professional Quidditch player, but I can only do that in Slytherin.'

He felt the Hat relax. 'Ah, _ambition_. A true Slytherin virtue.'

"Slytherin!" The Hat made its announcement, drawing a number of surprised stares. Alfred's happy smile and loud whoop of joy drew even more shock. In the two decades since the Second Wizarding War, Slytherin had suffered a huge loss of reputation. Very few wanted to be associated with Voldemort's house or its pure-blooded bigotry. Now, fewer than one in ten children joined that house, throwing off the school's usual system for dividing students into classes. Many Slytherins transferred to other schools to avoid the guilt by association. The house had moved into a small tower, so that its former location under the lake could be used to house the additional Gryffindor students, who had gleefully changed the greens to reds. No one sitting in the room had ever seen someone debate with the Hat in order to get _into_ Slytherin.

"Kesesese, join the awesome table!" Gilbert called.

As Alfred sat down, he could see Arthur glaring at him from across the room.

"Peter Kirkland… Gryffindor!" the Hat said as it resumed sorting. Arthur shifted his glare from Alfred to the short blond running up to the Gryffindor table. Alfred jerked his head when he heard the last name. Was Peter Kirkland related to Arthur Kirkland? He saw the boy approach Arthur and the pieces clicked together. He knew he had read about giant eyebrows somewhere! One of the earlier Quidditch articles briefly described Arthur's eyebrows but that person mysteriously stopped writing stories afterward and no one ever mentioned the eyebrows again.

He had met Arthur Kirkland. He had actually met Arthur Kirkland. Damn, he should have asked for a signature. No, that would have been awkward. Still, it explained why the Gryffindor boy didn't like his Slytherin rivals. He couldn't believe that he had failed to connect Arthur in Gryffindor with Arthur Kirkland, amazing Gryffindor Seeker. For some reason, he had expected Arthur to be taller.

Even though they would be rivals on the Quidditch field, Alfred wasn't going to let silly things like different houses stand between him and the Gryffindor seeker. They could be rivals and still become friends, right? Alfred squared his shoulders. He always loved a good challenge. And he bet he knew one way to get on Arthur's good side**—**by returning his potions textbook and offering more one-on-one tutoring.

* * *

"Artie! Artie! So when can I try out for the Quidditch team?" Peter asked, nearly treading on his cousin Arthur's heels as the Gryffindor Prefect led the First Years to the Gryffindor common room.

"Next year. First years aren't allowed broomsticks."

"But I want to fly now! I bet I'm better than you, and you're just scared to let me prove it."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "The headmaster makes the rules, not me. So take it up with him."

Unfortunately, that didn't stop Peter from whining and moaning about the stupid and unfair rules as they climbed up to the Gryffindor dorm. Arthur sighed. He could feel a headache coming on, and that headache was called 'having to live in the same house as Peter for a year.'

Arthur had never been so grateful to see the Fat Lady's portrait. He gave her the password and hung back as the First Years eagerly raced into the common room. Just before he stepped into the room himself, Arthur noticed a familiar book lying near the wall.

It was his potions book. Arthur frowned, instantly on guard. He cast a few spells to check for curses and suspiciously prodded his potions book with his wand. Eventually, he shrugged and picked it up. Inside he found a short note.

_Hey Arthur,_

_I figured you might want your potions book back. They doodled a bit in the margins, but it looks mostly okay. I've added a few more notes on some of the trickier potions. If you ever want more tutoring, I'm happy to help!_

_AFJ_

_P.S. Always remember rabbit fur for your polyjuice potion _:)

Arthur scowled and tossed the note into the rubbish bin. Of course it would turn out to be just another joke at his expense. Arthur should have known that the young man's handsome face hid a cruel mind. He carefully buried his disappointment as he stepped into the Gryffindor lounge. Walking past the loud group of gossiping students, he climbed the staircase to the seventh year's room. Arthur was supposed to help the newly sorted Gryffindor students settle in, but after his hectic day, he was ready to let Peter and the other students muddle along on their own.

The room for seventh year students was blessedly quiet since his roommates were still catching up with old friends down in the lounge. Arthur began to unpack his belongings from their neatly folded position in a trunk next to his bed. He set out clothes for tomorrow and books for his classes. Charms and potions. He stared at the potions book and pondered whether he dared use any of the tips from the American transfer student. He needed all of the help he could get, but relying on a Slytherin could easily blow up in his face.

Arthur set aside the book and resolved to forget about the Slytherin student. Sure, the young man had a pretty face, but as the sorting proved, it almost certainly concealed a devious mind. Arthur was prepared to take his own advice: life would be much easier if he stayed away from the handsome American. Little did he realize... ignoring Alfred would be much more difficult than he expected.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Yep, the USUK brother phase happened in one hour on the Hogwarts Express. Which means delicious, delicious tension from here on out. Mwahaha.

**Gryffindor vs. Slytherin**

Alfred acts like the Gryffindor posterboy most of the time, but I think there are elements of his personality that would fit well within Slytherin House. For example: I see Alfred as being competitive, ambitious, and a prankster. So expect him to spend less time talking about being a hero and more time talking about being a Quidditch star.

Likewise, Arthur gets slotted into Slytherin fairly often, mostly to create delicious tension through an inter-house romance. Or possibly because he looks good in green. Yet he has a lot of great Gryffindor traits: he's brave, determined, and aspires to be a gentleman. (Plus, the house animal is a lion, how is that not perfect for Arthur?)

And that's why I decided to flip the houses.

**Update / Revision Plans**

This story was taken down. Fortunately, I have backups! As I've read through it again, I saw some portions that I wanted to flesh out and plot holes that I wanted to fill in, and I realized that this might be a good opportunity to make the story even better and maybe hit 100k words :)

I think the process should take around 2-3 months, so expect frequent updates. The previous version is available on my A03 page (linked at the top of my profile).

Faves/Follows/Reviews greatly appreciated since I lost those in the deletion!


	2. The First Match

**Chapter II: The First Match**

Alfred was so excited for his first class at Hogwarts (Charms!) that he actually managed to arrive early. He walked into the half-empty classroom and grinned when he spotted Arthur packing up his books near the middle of the classroom. He must have had an earlier class.

The American made a beeline for the Gryffindor boy. He wanted to say hello now that he knew Arthur was actually Arthur Kirkland, the kickass Quidditch seeker. Alfred could talk about Quidditch for hours... and often did. He wondered if they had time to swap Quidditch stories before Arthur had to leave for his next class.

"Hey, Arthur! How's it going?" Alfred asked cheerfully.

The Gryffindor boy looked up in surprise and quickly frowned. "Do you mind? You're interrupting my conversation."

Alfred glanced from side to side. "Uh... who are you talking to?" he asked.

"Flying Mint Bunny." Arthur caught Alfred's dubious expression and added, "He's invisible."

Alfred frowned, wondering if Arthur had taken a few too many hits to the head during his Quidditch games, or if the other boy was just trying to scare him away. Whatever it was, it worked. Alfred quietly stepped back and asked a few other students if he could sit next to them. They all said no. He was about ready to give up and take one of the seats near the front (just like at muggle schools, the seats in front were always the least popular), when a Hufflepuff with blond pigtails responded with something other than 'no.' Instead, she replied, "Eh?"

Assuming that meant no, Alfred reached for his books and turned to leave, but the girl grabbed his sleeve and smiled apologetically. "No, I'm sorry! Of course you can sit here. I was just surprised that you noticed me," she said, moving her books to the side of the table to make room. "I'm Madeleine."

"Hey, you're American!" Alfred replied happily as he dumped his books on the table.

"Actually, Canadian," she corrected softly. She opened her book to the front section. It looked like the class was starting on various truth spells.

"That's a type of American… North American!" Alfred joked. That was about the extent of his geographic knowledge, so it felt good to have a chance to show it off. Gilbert had claimed to be Prussian earlier, and Alfred was still unsure if he was joking or not.

The Charms Professor called the two dozen students in the class to attention. "Good morning, class! Our first topic of the year is a personal favorite of mine, truth charms! We're going to start with the _Veritas_ charm. Can someone tell me how Veritas differs from Veritaserum?"

A Hufflepuff in the front raised his hand. "Veritaserum _compels_ a person to answer truthfully. Veritas simply prevents someone from lying," he answered.

The professor smiled. "Good, ten points to Hufflepuff!"

She branched into a lengthy discussion of various truth telling charms and their development during history. Alfred set his elbows on the table and tried not to fall asleep. He stared at the table and wondered if anyone would notice if he carved his initials. He could tell it was an old table from its intricate network of scratches and blast marks, each bearing testament to the countless failed spells the table had witnessed over the years.

Given all of his excitement about Quidditch, Alfred hadn't spent much time thinking about classes, but it suddenly occurred to him that it felt strange to go to school in a castle. He could feel the history weighing him down at every turn. (The ghosts in particular were absolutely terrifying, but his parents had the forethought to give him a Ghost-Be-Gone charm as a parting gift, so the spirits had to stay at least 100 feet away.) He realized that he missed modern appliances and electricity.

Finally the professor ended her lecture. She smiled at the class. "Now, practice the charm with each other and try to tell outrageous lies!"

Alfred turned to face Madeleine. "I have a pet tiger," he said eagerly.

"You have to wait until I've cast the spell!" she protested. She raised her wand and whispered _Veritas_ under her breath.

Alfred tried to repeat the same lie. "I have a... well... my cat _is_ large," he admitted under the spell's effect.

Madeleine laughed. She scrunched up her nose as Alfred cast the spell. "I have a pet bear," she said. Alfred frowned, thinking he had miscast the spell, before Madeleine reassured him that she actually _did_ have a magical talking pet bear. She promised to bring the bear to class next time, explaining that the professors didn't care because they often didn't notice.

"The spell is used to best effect on an unsuspecting target," the charms professor added, "since they might let the truth slip out unintentionally, whereas a person who realizes that they have been charmed will simply refuse to answer your questions. That's it for today, class. Be sure to practice the charm on at least three different people before next class."

"Professor, are you encouraging us to practice the charm on other students?" a girl asked from the back of the class.

The charms professor smiled. "Of course. The world would be a better place with more truth."

Alfred grinned. He decided that he liked the zany professors at Hogwarts.

* * *

"First the Lethe water and _then_ the mistletoe berries," Arthur muttered to himself after his arduous one-on-one tutoring session with the Potions Master, trying to ingrain in his memory the correct order of ingredients to make a Forgetfulness Potion. Although the potion was typically assigned to third-year students, his efforts to make it had failed abysmally, leaving Arthur in a wretched mood. He was just grateful that he wasn't forced to take a potions class with the fifth year students.

The Potions Master was remarkably kind and patient, despite being the Slytherin Head of House. But even she had suggested that Arthur's study of potions would probably be best accomplished on a "theoretical level." He knew she meant that he should stay away from any actual potion brewing unless he had her direct supervision.

As he ducked out of the dungeon classroom, still repeating the list of ingredients, Arthur slammed into another student. He apologized, as any gentleman would, but bit back any further apology when he realized that the other student was Alfred Jones. Bloody Slytherins, always cluttering up his hallways. Alfred stepped in front of him, blocking Arthur's path down the corridor. Arthur surreptitiously reached for his wand, ready to defend himself from the other boy's tricks. He could see Alfred placing his wand back into his robe pocket, making Arthur suspect that Alfred had just cast a spell or was going to cast one soon.

Instead of reaching for his wand again, the Slytherin grinned and asked a question. "Hey, Arthur! How's it going?"

"Terrible," Arthur grumbled. "First I had to deal with potions, and now I have to deal with you, Jones."

Alfred's grin fell. "Oh. Well, I had a question from charms class. How is the flying bunny both mint-green _and_ invisible?"

"He's green to those with the sight," Arthur replied, scoffing at Alfred's ignorance. Although thestrals were the most famous example, many magical creatures could be seen by only a select group of people. For fairies like flying mint bunny, that group included those whom they considered friends. The Gryffindor brushed past Alfred and continued walking down the corridor. He was already late for lunch, so he decided to head straight to the dining hall without dropping off his book bag in his dormitory.

"So if he's green does that mean he's a Slytherin fan?" Alfred called as he used his longer legs to catch up to Arthur.

"Don't be absurd, he's entirely the wrong shade of green, and he hates your house." Arthur ducked down one of the nearly secret staircases that provided a shortcut between classrooms. Feeling stressed from his continued failure in brewing potions, he didn't want to have to deal with an annoying American's questions. He sped up as the dining hall came into sight.

Arthur heard the usual cacophony of student voices, but there was a surprising undercurrent of irritation and complaints. As he entered the dining hall, he was greeted with a shocking sight. The Gryffindor table was completely empty, while Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were filled to the brim with displaced students. And all because someone had replaced the food at the Gryffindor table with Arthur's cooking.

"Dude, what's that crap they're serving you guys?" Alfred asked, his voice filled with disgust as he stared at the collection of burnt inedibles. He walked over and picked up one of Arthur's scones. Alfred took a bite from the blackened mass and started gagging. "Ew, this is nasty," he complained, holding the remainder of the scone in his hand as he gave it a nasty look.

Arthur glared at the other student. Although Alfred was very good at feigning ignorance, it was obvious that he and the Slytherin trio had pulled this prank and that Alfred had been sent to keep Arthur distracted. His food was perfectly delicious, so they must have poisoned it somehow to discourage the other Gryffindor students from sitting at their normal table. That was the only possible explanation. Francis and company had always loved teasing Arthur about his cooking. To rub salt in the wound, Alfred grinned and offered Arthur a seat at the Slytherin table.

What Arthur wanted to say was 'No, thank you. My cooking is perfectly delicious so I will be eating at the Gryffindor table. As usual.'

What escaped from his lips was something else entirely.

"Okay, I know it's bad!" Arthur shouted. "I'm not stupid. I just really wish someone could at least _pretend_ to like it."

"What?" Alfred scrunched his eyebrows in confusion at Arthur's outburst. The students at the nearby tables stared.

Arthur thought fast. He opened his mouth to claim that his cooking was delicious and that simpletons like Alfred simply didn't understand because they had no sense of taste, but the words wouldn't come out. He let loose an ungentlemanly swear and decided that he wasn't hungry after all.

"Hey, wait up!" Alfred called, grabbing Arthur's arm in the empty hallway. "I was just joking. Your scone is actually decent!"

Arthur turned around and watched as Alfred bit into the partially eaten scone. He chewed slowly and gave Arthur a watery grin when he finished. Arthur didn't believe it for a second, but he felt pleased by the gesture nonetheless. "Thanks," he murmured.

"I really need to get something to drink," Alfred rasped before heading back to the dining hall.

Arthur's stomach did a strange flip as he watched the other boy leave. Although he normally had no difficulty keeping a calm demeanor, Arthur found that Alfred seemed to have an unlimited ability to send his emotions into turmoil. And he couldn't stop _thinking_ about him, despite the boy's bad taste in friends and even worse taste in Houses. It didn't help that the American kept pestering him at every available opportunity, reminding Arthur of his aggravating existence. Even worse, he didn't know why he had admitted that his cooking was terrible. Arthur froze, suddenly realizing what Alfred had been doing with his wand just outside the Potions room. A truth charm.

Arthur frowned. It seemed that just as soon as Alfred did something nice, he also did something that reminded Arthur why the Slytherin student couldn't be trusted.

* * *

Sixth years had a lot of free time, but they were supposed to spend most of it studying. To give students time to settle in, Quidditch tryouts didn't begin until after several weeks of school. The first match (between Slytherin and Gryffindor) happened a few weeks after that, in early October.

Normally, Alfred would have completely blown off studying for the first few weeks and just spent it hanging out with his new friends while exploring Hogwarts. And he did exactly that with Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis, who proceeded to show him every single secret passageway in Hogwarts. The best one wasn't even a secret passage, just a clever way to escape curfew: to leave the Slytherin dormitory, all they had to do was open the window and summon their broomstick. They could fly away with none the wiser.

The rest of his spare time he spent with Madeleine, and she actually liked studying. When they weren't sneaking into the kitchen to make pancakes, they met in a quiet corner of the library to work on charms. Their preferred spot was normally empty, but sometimes they discovered other students taking advantage of a corner hidden from view by several tall bookshelves. Today, it was Kiku at the table.

"Sorry," Madeleine said as she moved to find a new table, but Alfred grabbed her elbow and pulled her back. He liked Kiku, and he also realized that wherever Kiku studied, there was a good chance Arthur might join. Other than Charms class, it had been awhile since he saw Arthur. He was starting to miss the Gryffindor boy and he still wanted a chance to talk Quidditch. He was still a little overwhelmed to realize that he was going to school with Arthur Kirkland, the best seeker at Hogwarts. (At least... the best seeker until Alfred took the field.)

"Mind if we join you, Kiku?" Alfred asked.

The quiet Ravenclaw student tilted his head in response, inviting them to join him at the table with a smooth hand gesture.

"Thanks!" Alfred chirped as he dropped his books onto the table. Kiku winced at the noise and resumed studying. Alfred had barely spent a few minutes on his potions essay when he noticed a new figure approaching the table.

It was Arthur, who frowned when he noticed Alfred and Madeleine sitting in his usual spot. His glare deepened when Alfred smiled back. Arthur interpreted the smile to hide some terrible machinations, like another effort to steal his potions book. He gripped the book tighter to his chest.

Madeleine glanced up from the table. "You're welcome to join us," she offered politely.

"Thank you, I prefer to study alone," he coolly replied, before turning on his heels.

Alfred might have imagined it, but he thought he caught sight of Kiku rolling his eyes.

The Slytherin boy didn't understand why Arthur had become such a big jerk, since he had seemed perfectly nice on the Hogwarts Express, but it was starting to get on his nerves. Alfred was sick of being ignored. If Arthur thought he was better than everyone else just because he was a Prefect and he was in Gryffindor, then he had another think a-comin'.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_My first week at Hogwarts was amazing! I got in to the house I wanted and I've already made several friends. Hogwarts seems kinda cliquish (the kids in each house just hang out with their own house), but I'm sure I'll get to know more people in time. _

_It's weird to hear all these British accents, but at least there are a few other international students around, like my labmate Madeleine. She's super nice. She likes to bring her magical pet bear to class, but the bear keeps eating the memory-erase charms._

_Tryouts for the Quidditch team are next week. Wish me luck!_

_Love,__  
__Alfred_

* * *

Quidditch tryouts occurred in alphabetical order, with one day per House. Since Slytherin went last, Alfred had plenty of time to study the strengths and weaknesses of the other teams, particularly Gryffindor's. Each team had seven players: three chasers, two beaters, one keeper, and one seeker. The chasers threw quaffle balls into the goal to score 10 points, while the keeper defended the goal. The beaters used bludger balls to try to knock the other team's players off their brooms, while also protecting their own team from the heavy rubber balls. Finally, the seekers had the most important position. When they caught the golden snitch, their team earned 150 points and the game ended (almost always with a victory for the team that caught the snitch).

The last tryout was for seeker, although that one was a foregone conclusion.

Alfred scribbled furiously as he watched Arthur compete during the tryouts. Arthur was good. He was very good. His broom flashed past, but even at high speeds Arthur could pull off a sharp turn and maneuver quickly. At the same time, Alfred could also see Arthur's weaknesses. He was arrogant and he hadn't been challenged on the field in a long time. The beginnings of a plan started to form in Alfred's mind...

"So you take notes for Quidditch, but not for your classes?" Madeleine asked with a soft smile.

"Of course, _this_ is important," Alfred replied without taking his eyes from the field. Watching the tryouts for the other teams would give him a competitive advantage and help him become the school's best Quidditch player.

They sat together in a nearly empty section of the stands. It was too far away to hear what the Gryffindor players were saying, yet still gave Alfred an excellent view of the entire field. Madeleine had encouraged Alfred to dress in Hufflepuff colors so that they wouldn't attract unwanted attention (it was hard to hate a House when you forgot it existed half the time), but he had refused. They were the only non-Gryffindors in attendance, drawing a number of unfriendly glances. There wasn't a rule that said he couldn't come to watch, though it was still frowned-upon.

At the end of the tryouts, Peter Kirkland stormed the field and tried to grab a broom. He started yelling at his cousin Arthur when they told him to try again next year because first years weren't allowed to play without special permission from the headmaster.

"You don't want me to be on the team because you're scared that I'm better than you are!" Peter shouted.

"No, I don't want you on the team because you're a spoiled brat," Arthur calmly retorted.

Madeleine and Alfred passed by the screaming match between Peter and Arthur as they cut across the field, taking the shortest path back to the castle's courtyard. Alfred didn't notice the whispers at his presence, nor did he notice when a group of three Gryffindor Quidditch players grabbed their wands and left the stadium just ahead of him.

"Am not!" said Peter.

"Are too," retorted Arthur.

"Dee two!" Alfred interjected, hoping to make Arthur laugh. As everyone stared at him with various levels of confusion and annoyance, he explained, "R2-D2, you know? From the Star Wars movies?"

"What's Star Wars?" Peter asked. "And why are you here? Are you spying?"

Alfred felt like he had entered a parallel universe. An _evil_ parallel universe. "You've never seen Star Wars?" he asked, shocked. "Oh man, we need to do a movie marathon. Does this place have a TV lounge somewhere?"

"You're at the world's premier boarding school for young witches and wizards, and you want to watch _movies_?" Arthur asked with incredulity.

"Uh, yeah."

"Muggle technology doesn't work in Hogwarts castle. Good lord, that's even dumber than Peter thinking he should be on the Quidditch team," Arthur added, causing Peter to complain and reigniting their shouting match. So much for Alfred's plan to end the shouting match with a bad joke.

Madeleine tugged on Alfred's robes and they resumed walking back to the castle. Alfred was still trying to sort out how he could arrange for a movie marathon. He didn't spot the three Gryffindor students waiting to ambush them near a curve into the path until Maddie pulled short, stepping between Alfred and the other students.

"Hufflepuff, this has nothing to do with you," one of the other students warned. "You have until the count of three to leave."

"One."

"What?" Alfred asked, still trying to understand what the other students wanted. They looked annoyed. "Did you want to watch movies too?"

"Two."

"No," Madeleine said, reaching for her wand.

"Three!"

Alfred barely had a chance to dodge one curse before he felt a stinging jinx hit him in the face and knock off his glasses. Half-blinded, he grabbed Madeleine's hand and pulled her into the closest building—the stable for magical creatures. The adrenaline kicked his brain into higher gear and he suddenly recognized his assailants as members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. They must have thought that he was spying on them during tryouts. (Okay, he was sort of spying, but still.) Perhaps it would have been a good idea to take Maddie's advice and wear Hufflepuff colors, though it was too late now.

Alfred dug his wand out of his pockets, cursing his robe for having too many pockets, while Madeleine fortified the entrance. She levitated wheelbarrows to form a barricade in front of the door before joining Alfred in empty stall.

"That should hold them," she whispered. "I hope."

* * *

Back on the Quidditch field, Arthur sighed, fed up with his annoying cousin's incessant whining. "Okay, fine!" He handed the younger boy his own broomstick and held up a snitch. "If you can catch this in under an hour, I'll let you try out."

Arthur "tossed" the snitch and watched as Peter zoomed into the distance. Feeling the weight of the snitch still in his sleeve, Arthur smiled. The boy was as easily fooled as a rambunctious puppy. He quietly slipped away before Peter noticed his deception.

Halfway back to the castle, Arthur suddenly heard the sounds of a fight ahead. He ran forward, worried when he saw the lights of spells flashing outside the stable for magical creatures. His stomach dropped as he noticed a scorch mark and a pair of broken spectacles on the path outside the stable. Alfred wore spectacles and he had walked this way just a few minutes ago.

"Accio spectacles!" Arthur shouted. The specs flew into his grasp and he slipped them into a pocket, keeping his wand at the ready.

He saw three of his Quidditch teammates about to enter the stables and he felt a flash of anger. As much as Alfred aggravated him, the other boy had done nothing to deserve an ambush. More importantly, Gryffindor students were supposed to value chivalry, and three-on-two odds simply weren't fair.

* * *

Alfred squinted, wishing their was a magical spell to correct bad eyesight. He could see darker blurs near the back door—their assailants were trying to sneak in. He cast a glisseo charm, causing the person in front to flail and fall down on the suddenly slippery ground. Madeleine lifted another into the air with a levitation charm. They both ducked as the third person shot a jinx in their direction.

"Expelliarmus!" Alfred heard a familiar voice shout. He glanced over the stall and saw Arthur standing over his three teammates as he scolded them, "I don't care _who_ started it. If you're having problems, you need to summon a professor. You don't just cast spells at another student. I'm docking 30 points from Gryffindor."

Alfred grinned. It was strange—but very pleasant—to hear Arthur annoyed at someone else for a change. After Arthur sent the other students on their way, the Gryffindor Prefect glanced up at Alfred. Even though he didn't have his glasses on, leaving his vision somewhat blurry, Alfred could guess that Arthur was scowling. "Why am I not surprised to find you in the midst of trouble?"

"_They_ attacked _us_," Madeleine retorted, irritation making her voice surprisingly loud.

"Again. I don't care. Call a professor to sort out trouble," Arthur replied. He stepped around the slippery patch of ground and approached the other two students. Arthur frowned as he walked close enough to see the red welts covering Alfred's face. "I believe these are yours, Jones. I found them outside."

Arthur cast a repair spell on the spectacles and returned them to Alfred. He declined to mention the stab of worry he felt when he saw Alfred's broken spectacles on the ground. He opened his mouth to suggest that Alfred visit the nurse to heal the red welts on his face (not that Arthur cared), when he noticed the unicorn foal in the stall with them. The silver foal nuzzled Alfred's face, instantly removing the jinx.

"Thanks," Alfred replied, completely oblivious to the unicorn as he grabbed his glasses and returned them to his face. Then he remembered that he was annoyed with Arthur. "Not that we needed your help or anything," he replied with blustery bravado.

"Well, I didn't come to help _you_. I just didn't want the magical beasts in the middle of a duel," Arthur grumbled automatically, unsure how to process the sight he had just witnessed. Unicorn foals cloaked themselves in an invisibility spell during their tender years (this one was so young she hadn't even grown her horn yet), so he wasn't surprised that the two students didn't see the foal, but he was surprised that the unicorn would willingly use her healing powers to help Alfred. It had taken him weeks to earn the foal's trust, whereas Alfred just walked into the stall and apparently waltzed into her good graces.

"_I_ appreciated your help," Madeleine said politely.

"I still think we could have handled it on our own," Alfred complained.

"Hmm. Then perhaps next time I'll just leave you to it." Arthur crossed his arms and watched them leave. Despite his words, he followed behind at a distance... just to make sure that his teammates didn't break the rules again.

* * *

Despite the ambush, Alfred was excited for the Slytherin tryouts. His enthusiasm dimmed when he saw the small number of people on the field. They had barely enough people to field a team, and the third-year beaters didn't look particularly skilled.

"Where is everyone?" he asked, jogging up to Francis.

The French boy shrugged. "Slim pickings, I'm afraid," he said as he carefully adjusted his robes. Although the team was small, their green robes were still the height of fashion. Alfred suspected that Francis had something to do with that.

Gilbert grinned and clapped Alfred on the back. "Don't worry, we have an awesome chaser trio!"

"Are you here to try out?" Antonio asked, noticing Alfred's broomstick.

"Yeah, seeker."

"_Bien_." Francis nodded and added Alfred's name to the roster.

Alfred blinked. He hadn't expected them to just _give_ him the spot. "Uh... don't you want me to fly first?"

"Hey!" Gilbert shouted, his voice carrying across the field. "Does anybody else want to be seeker?"

The beaters and keeper looked up. They shook their heads.

Antonio smiled. "Looks like it's yours!"

Quidditch practice proved to be a simple affair. Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert shot quaffles through the hoops while the keeper tried to stop them. The beaters took turns playing offense and defense: one defend the team while the other attacked, and then they would swap roles. Meanwhile, amidst the flurry of brooms and balls, Alfred set a timer on a training snitch and tried to beat his own personal record for shortest time before a catch.

He took a bludger to the leg, but he managed to catch the snitch in half an hour. It would be a little harder when there were twice as many people and balls flying around, but Alfred felt confident in his skills. He was going to beat Arthur, and maybe then the other student would finally start paying attention to him.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Guess who made the Quidditch team? And I'm going to be seeker too _:-)

_Our first game is in two weeks. We've been practicing like crazy to get ready._

_English breakfasts are really strange. I don't think I'll ever get used to beans and tomatoes in the morning. One of my friends really loves tomatoes, so I just give him mine. I really miss sugary cereal. Maddie promises me she'll make some pancakes on the weekend to celebrate making the team!_

_Love,__  
__Alfred_

* * *

Before he knew it, the first game day arrived. Alfred felt like his face would burst from smiling as he took the field in his official green and silver robes. He was actually playing _Quidditch_ at _Hogwarts_. He waved to the hostile crowd, determined that he was going to win his very first game. Victory was so close he could almost taste it. It tasted like chocolate-chip pancakes. Actually, that was just his breakfast. He spotted Madeleine in the crowd and waved to her. She grinned and waved back.

The weather had decided to cooperate, giving them a mostly sunny sky and relatively warm temperatures, at least by the standards of early October in Britain. Students wearing red and gold filled the stands, matching the autumn colors of the leaves. It was like nature herself was rooting for the Gryffindors. And as usual, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students mostly cheered for Gryffindor when their own teams weren't playing. A small number of Slytherin students attended the game, a few specks of green in the sea of red.

Still, Alfred was prepared to be the underdog. And if sports movies were any indication, being the underdog actually improved his chances of winning. He grinned and nodded at his teammates. Magical spells amplified the announcer's voice throughout the stadium.

"G'day, folks! Today looks to be a fantastic start to the season. Gryffindor, the reigning Quidditch champions, will be facing their arch-rivals, Slytherin."

The audience booed the Slytherin players as they took the field.

The announcer waited for the angry shouts to subside and then continued. "This match promises to be particularly interesting because the Slytherins are fielding a new seeker, Alfred Jones, a sixth-year. And of course, we have the returning seventh-year Slytherin chasers, Antonio Carriedo, Francis Bonnefoy, and Gilbert Awe—Gilbert, your last name is not 'Awesome.' Stop changing the official materials!"

"Kesesese," Gilbert laughed.

The announcer finished listing the Slytherin players. The audience finally began to clap as he started to introduce the Gryffindor players. They cheered wildly when he finished the list with "And here comes Arthur Kirkland, Gryffindor's seeker!"

"Hey, Kirkland!" Alfred shouted at the other team's seeker. "Bet I can beat you in under an hour!"

"Not bloody likely," Arthur replied, before launching into the air. He soared above the field, his movements as graceful as always. As much as Arthur annoyed him sometimes, Alfred had to admit that the other boy was an exceptional Quidditch player. He watched Arthur from the other side of the field and tried not to stare too blatantly. He didn't want to make Arthur suspicious about his plans. All of the other players took their positions hovering on broomsticks above the field and the referees signaled the start of the game.

Just a few minutes into the game, the announcer breathlessly shouted into the amplifier: "Jones is off like a shot! Has he spotted the snitch already? This could be a very short game, folks! Kirkland is following closely as Jones leads a merry chase. Ooh, that was a very impressive reverse spin by Jones! But so far no snitch. Looks like this was a false alarm."

"You did that on purpose," Arthur accused.

Alfred grinned, but didn't reply. His plan was working perfectly.

The game continued as the Slytherin chasers shot quaffle after quaffle towards the hoops. The Gryffindor keeper blocked most, but a few got through, earning an early lead for the Slytherins. Gilbert beat his chest and whooped when he scored a goal. The chasers knew Alfred's plan and they knew that they needed to at least keep the score at a tie.

Alfred narrowly dodged a bludger and then shot upward, pretending that he'd seen the snitch again. Arthur followed. Like he hoped, after the first chase, Arthur had started paying more attention to him then to the field. That was a big mistake.

The announcer quickly relayed the information to the crowd. "And we've got another high speed chase with the seekers both going after the snitch. I gotta admit, folks, I don't see it yet, but Jones looks pretty intent. No, wait, they've stopped now. Jones is going to be completely worn out by the end of the game if he keeps chasing after false alarms."

The Gryffindor chasers took back the quaffle and managed to score a few shots of their own, bringing the game to a tied score.

Both seekers hovered in the middle of the field, high above the action below, waiting for a glimpse of the elusive golden snitch.

"Oh look, there it is!" Alfred cried with his best fake voice. He shot off toward the left side of the field. This time Arthur didn't follow… until he saw the snitch just in front of Alfred. By the time he caught up, Alfred had already grabbed the snitch and won the game, ending the match in just under an hour.

"You little cheat," Arthur muttered with a scowl as the two teams pretended to be civilized by shaking each other's hands at the end of the match.

Alfred grinned and shrugged. "What? I gave you fair warning when I spotted it!"

Arthur glared and stalked away.

"Muy bueno, mi amigo!" Antonio cried happily as the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team came over to congratulate Alfred. They cheered amongst themselves as most of the audience booed. Alfred spotted Arthur scowling at him from across the field, and he smirked. If Hogwarts wanted an inter-house rivalry, he would gladly give them one.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

I have a headcannon that American witches and wizards are more integrated into popular culture—hence Alfred's knowledge of movies and video games. I'll be getting into Arthur's background eventually, but it's a bit of a hint that he knows what movies and television are.

According to the internet, which is always 120% accurate, in Harry Potter unicorn foals are born pure gold in color. They turn silver at two-years old, and around four-years-old their horn grows in. The internet doesn't mention anything about invisibility, but I would like to think that animals that are GOLD and SILVER would have some protection from predators. Note also, that together the unicorn and the flying mint bunny are silver and green. Hmm :)

. . .

**Responses to Reviews:**

_ItalianCrybaby_: I hope you enjoy the revised version! I'm just glad I'm good about keeping backups. (I think the really sad stories are the poor folks who end up losing their fic forever.)

_Ximu_: Of course. Good luck on the Chinese translation :)

_Marichinocherry_: Yep, one advantage of revising is that it's much easier to stick in foreshadowing. Not that the USUK was ever in doubt.

_Spades_: I don't think of either of them as ever truly _hating_ the other, but I do love writing them as having a very intense rivalry.

_Guest_: I was surprised too, although the good news is that that still leaves me with 90% of the story.

_Fire Bear1_: Ooh, that's a good idea. I'm not sure how to have an ffnet party, but I'll try to think of something...

_kiiroiyuuri_: Don't worry, you can't keep a good story down :)

_octopus_: Glad I could give you an excuse to read it again!


	3. Potions and Tea

**Chapter III: Potions and Tea Leaves**

Arthur stared at the ceiling and replayed the Quidditch match in his head. He chastised himself for his rookie mistake: instead of focusing on the hunt for the snitch, he had let himself be distracted by the other team's seeker. He had to admit, at least to himself, that his obsession with the handsome American likely played some role in Gryffindor's defeat.

He glanced up at the door as one of his roommates entered their four-person room. The fellow seventh year glanced over at Arthur and gave him an encouraging smile. "Don't beat yourself up, mate. I'm sure it wasn't more than beginner's luck."

Arthur sighed. "We lost the game because I underestimated him."

"Well, who wouldn't? Kid acts like he has the brains of a Flitterby. In fact, some of the lads and I were thinking that we might whip up a spell to—"

"No," Arthur firmly interjected. "No pranks, no ambushes, no jinxes. I want to beat him fair and square in our next match." Slytherin and Gryffindor wouldn't play again for another two months, giving him plenty of time to prepare. And though he wouldn't admit it out loud, he also didn't want to see Alfred hurt.

"Fair enough," his fellow Gryffindor replied. His smile brightened as he pulled out some scrolls for his homework. "Have you done your charms work yet? I was practicing my Silencing Charms earlier, and your cousin happened to be close by. You know, I think I might have hit him a few times... purely accidentally. He didn't say nothing though, so I assume he's all right."

Arthur grinned. "I'm sure he is," he agreed. He had wondered why Peter hadn't come upstairs to rub defeat in Arthur's face. A silencing charm certainly explained it. In fact, a permanent silencing charm sounded like a good plan.

Deciding that he had spent enough time wallowing in self-pity, Arthur pulled himself out of bed and opened the textbook at his desk. He had finished all of his essays except for potions, which required him to describe how beneficial potions could become dangerous at higher doses. He stopped when he arrived at Felix Felicis, aslo known as liquid luck. Arthur frowned to see Alfred's hand-writing in the margins, an unwelcome reminder that the other boy was dreadfully skilled with potions. The potion's description contained what Arthur was looking for—a prominent warning of dangerous side-effects:

_Overdosing is dangerous, as it is very toxic in large quantity, and over-reliance may lead to dangerous overconfidence, giddiness, and recklessness. The potion is very difficult and time consuming to brew, and disastrous if concocted incorrectly. Due to its effects, it is considered a tool of cheating and therefore prohibited in organised events such as Quidditch and examinations._

Arthur stared at the words for a few seconds and as he finished up his essay, he wondered if Alfred's victory was really beginner's luck after all.

* * *

Alfred whistled happily as he walked down the hallway between classes. The young American loved to be at the center of attention, so he was thrilled by his sudden notoriety, even if the attention wasn't all friendly. Even better, Arthur had finally started to pay attention to him! As part of their budding inter-house rivalry, Alfred began trading taunts with Arthur each time they passed in the castle corridors.

"Hey, Kirkland, are you ready for our rematch?" he asked with a smirk.

"A rematch? How strange, I thought you were transferring to Warthog's School for Wazzocks," Arthur retorted.

And then Alfred kept walking because he had no idea what a wazzock was.

Given the size of Hogwarts and their very different class schedules, they could have easily avoided each other in the hallways. But Alfred had quickly memorized Arthur's schedule and he made sure that he had at least three run-ins with the Gryffindor Prefect per week. Trading insults with Arthur was often the highlight of his day (even if he did have to look up some of the slang afterwards).

In addition to his new rounds of witty repartee, the American found himself spending more time practicing Quidditch and studying for class than ever before. Back home, he would have been distracted by friends, video games, and movies. But here at Hogwarts... well, he had trouble making friends outside of Slytherin and Madeleine. At least his parents would be pleased by the improvement in his grades.

* * *

Arthur (along with most Hogwarts students) normally skipped the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff game that always followed the Gryffindor/Slytherin match. Although it was necessary to arrange the schedule so that each House played an equal number of matches against different opponents, some matches were more popular than others. This year Arthur attended the Yellow vs. Blue game to get a sense of the opposition. He noticed Alfred on the other side of the field doing the same. Well, two could play the spy game.

Since the permanent end of the Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts had added extra Quidditch games, extending the calendar from early October to late March. Arthur suspected that the main reason for adding more games and changing the schedule was to increase the number of Gryffindor/Slytherin matches. Not that he had any complaints, mind you, nothing was quite as thrilling to Arthur as defeating his Slytherin archrivals.

The third match was Slytherin against Hufflepuff, finally given Arthur a chance to observe Alfred in action. Wearing clothing that emphasized the gold portion of his house colors, Arthur grabbed a seat near some Hufflepuff students and stealthily pulled out a small notebook. He wished he had brought his warm wool scarf, but its colors were too distinguishable. He didn't want Alfred to realize that he was spying back.

As he watched the Slytherin seeker during the course of the game, Arthur carefully documented the boy's weaknesses. He had a reputation to uphold and he was not going to be one-upped by a bloody sixth-year student. After jotting a few notes, Arthur heard the sound of quiet chuckling from directly behind him. He glanced back and saw that a nearby Hufflepuff girl was watching him with a grin. Arthur returned to his notes, uncertain why she looked familiar. With a jolt, he remembered that she was the Hufflepuff that he always saw hanging out with Alfred (not that he paid attention to the Slytherin's friends or anything stalkerish like that).

"What's so amusing?" Arthur turned around and asked, hiding the notebook from view.

"You don't need to put away your notebook," she said softly. "It's just funny. Alfred was doing the same thing earlier."

"I'm not here because of Jones," Arthur lied. "I'm more worried about the Hufflepuff seeker."

She chuckled again and shook her head.

Arthur scoffed and resumed watching the game, his attention focused entirely on the Slytherin seeker. From an objective point of view, he had to admit that Alfred had a talent for flying. Despite being taller and larger than Arthur, he was fast and agile. But Arthur could also see certain weaknesses—Alfred paid more attention to the right side of the field than the left and he watched the rival seeker too often. He also spent too much time watching the audience, even though their glances were rarely useful for finding the golden snitch.

Arthur jotted down his notes, although he took care to hide his scribblings from the Hufflepuff student so she wouldn't be able to share the information with Alfred. As the game wore on, the Gryffindor student found himself somewhat tempted to sketch a drawing of Alfred. He really had very nice flying form. His legs gripped the broom tightly, allowing him to let go and snatch the snitch at a moment's notice. His golden hair (a perfect match for the golden snitch) waved slightly in the breeze, with one lock constantly defying gravity. Arthur couldn't see his blue eyes at this distance, but he imagined that they were sparkling behind Alfred's flying goggles. Stupid, sexy Slytherin.

About two hours into the game, without a single appearance by the golden snitch, Arthur realized that it was going to be a very long match. Games last more than four hours were rare at Hogwarts, but not unheard of. Although he had a personal record of never letting a game go more than three hours, the times could vary widely depending on the seekers and the snitch. Alfred always acted like a hyperactive toddler, but on the field he showed that he had stamina as well. When his constant search for the golden snitch brought Alfred close to the section of the stands where Arthur and Madeleine were sitting, Arthur could almost swear that Alfred winked at him. Then logic took over and he realized that if Alfred was winking at anyone, it definitely would have been his Hufflepuff friend, not his Gryffindor rival.

At the three hour mark, the teams took a short break and Arthur wished he had brought a snack and a thermos filled with tea. He loved Quidditch, but it was far more interesting playing on the field than watching from the stands. As he waited for the game to restart, Arthur decided to politely chat with the Hufflepuff. Perhaps she would let slip some helpful information about Alfred.

"This must be rather difficult for you, watching Slytherin compete against Hufflepuff. Do you root for your house or your boyfriend?" he asked with feigned sympathy.

"He's not my boyfriend," she said with a grin. "Besides, what makes you think I'm here to watch Alfred?"

Arthur was too much of a gentleman to voice his disbelief, but be didn't think she would sit on the stands for three hours unless she enjoyed watching Alfred fly. Of course, he acknowledged that his obsession with the attractive American might have something to do with his own willingness to continue watching the other boy play as a cold wind picked up.

Almost as soon as the game resumed, Alfred swooped down and caught the snitch. He waved at the audience, and this time Arthur was _positive_ that the American seeker was staring directly at him when he winked. Well, if Alfred wanted a challenge, Arthur was happy to oblige.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Guess who won his second Quidditch match? We had an awesome party to celebrate. But don't worry—there wasn't any alcohol. Hogwarts is pretty strict about that stuff, other than the Butterbeer at Hogsmeade. _

_I do miss soda. They serve lots of juice and tea in the dining hall, but nothing carbonated. I'm going to drink Coke nonstop when you come to visit for xmas. _

_Love,__  
__Alfred_

* * *

Alfred handed the envelope to his eagle in the Owlery and cheerfully climbed down the steps. He passed Gilbert on the stairs and waved. Given how much beer Gilbert had drunk at the Slytherin victory party (Alfred was old enough to know when it was a good idea to lie to one's parents), he was a bit surprised to see Gilbert moving around so early in the morning.

For some reason, Gilbert and Francis both kept golden chicks instead of owls, so Alfred assumed that Gilbert was heading up to spend time with Gilbird and Pierre. Knowing Gilbert, he probably also had a prank in mind. Pranks were the only things that got him out of bed before noon. Some days he liked to distribute howlers to random students because it was highly amusing to watch their shocked faces when they received the messages during the breakfast mail delivery.

Francis and Antonio were still eating when Alfred arrived. Alfred slid into his seat, pushed the tomatoes from his plate onto Antonio's, and gladly accepted another helping of hashbrowns from Francis. Alfred's seat gave him an excellent view of Arthur on the other side of the room (which was a coincidence, of course, and not the primary reason Alfred had selected the spot).

He watched as Arthur sighed and carefully opened a red envelope. The paper rearranged itself into an angry red mouth and began to screech at Arthur for neglecting his cousin and denying 'poor Peter' a spot on the Quidditch team. Alfred felt bad for the Gryffindor boy as everyone in the room listened to the angry tirade.

"That isn't one of Gilbert's, is it?" Alfred asked his companions.

Francis shook his head. "No, I'm afraid Arthur's aunt comes up with that stuff on her own."

A student in Ravenclaw received a howler claiming that his "vital regions" would be conquered by a pack of angry Kneazles unless he delivered a crate of Weißbier to Slytherin House.

Antonio smiled. "Now, that's from Mr. Awesome!"

After his late breakfast, Alfred grabbed his book bag and eagerly trotted to the library. He and Madeleine planned to study before lunch, then he would join the Slytherin team for afternoon practice. Normally, Alfred wouldn't be excited to study on a Saturday morning, but he had discovered that Arthur and Kiku liked to study in the library on weekend mornings, so despite his love of sleeping in, he decided to 'conveniently' arrive at the same time. It wasn't stalking if he did some studying too.

The American boy took his seat and eagerly pulled out his parchment and quill so he would appear to be industriously working when Arthur arrived. He slowly wrote his astronomy paper, glancing up every few minutes when he heard the sound of a person approach. The third time he lifted his head he was rewarded with the sight of Arthur and Kiku approaching. He smiled at both and waved. Kiku nodded at Alfred and silently took a seat. Arthur hesitated, then took the seat across from Alfred with a calculating expression. Alfred noticed a slight flick of the other boy's wand.

"Jones... does your offer of potions explanations still stand?" Arthur asked crisply as he pulled out his much-maligned Potions book.

Alfred grinned. "Of course! I like talking about potions almost as much as Quidditch."

"Ah, then you might be the person to ask. I wanted to know more about Felix Felicis. I was wondering if you've ever brewed it before." Arthur's green eyes glinted as he leaned in closer, looking very much like a cat waiting to pounce.

"Sure, but it's been a long time. What's your question?"

"Have you ever used it in a Quidditch game?"

Alfred laughed so loudly that the librarian had to shush him from across the room. He wiped a tear from his eye and smiled at Arthur. "Dude, you think I beat you by cheating? Sorry, Kirkland. It was 100% my own skill." His grin widened. "Of course, you'd know how skilled I am because you went to watch my second game. Maddie said that your notes were _very_ complimentary."

Arthur flushed and pulled back. "Where is your girlfriend, anyway?"

Kiku pointed just past the bookshelf.

"Sorry! I'm running a little late because Kumarie tried to eat my homework," Madeleine said as she quietly approached the table. She sat down next to Alfred and after a moment's thought added, "And I'm not his girlfriend."

"Yep, we're just study buddies. And pancake buddies. Mmm, pancakes."

Maddie smiled. "Not that there's anything wrong with dating a Slytherin boy. Didn't I hear rumors about you and Francis a couple years back?"

Arthur glared. "Who told you about that?"

"Wait... you dated _Francis_?" Alfred asked, leaning forward in interest. "Huh, given the way you two talked on the train I thought that you..."

"Do you mind? I need to finish my potions homework before practice," Arthur replied, cutting off further discussion. He grimly stared as his blank parchment and pressed the quill into the paper with more force than necessary, making a small tear.

For once, Alfred managed to read the atmosphere enough to sense that he should probably stop talking. He had suspected that the Gryffindor boy played for the Queerditch team, but he was still irrationally happy to have confirmation. At a boarding school with only 200-some students, the odds of finding another gay guy of the same age weren't terribly high. Not to mention finding one as attractive and sharp-witted and all-around interesting as Arthur.

Alfred scratched out a reasonable astronomy essay even though he didn't believe a word of it. He had signed up for astrology thinking it was the study of stars. Turns out he had confused _astrology_ with _astronomy_.

After he finished his essay, Alfred surreptitiously read Arthur's potions essay, finding it hard to make his way through the upside down cursive. But he could make out enough to tell that the fifth year Potions class was working on the Draught of Peace. The potion helped relieve feelings of anxiety, but it was tremendously difficult to make, meaning that the people who couldn't make it were usually the ones who needed it most. He watched as Arthur copied over a description of the potion-making process from a library book.

Arthur caught him staring. The Gryffindor frowned and moved his books to block Alfred's view. Not taking the hint, Alfred stood up and walked around to read the essay over Arthur's shoulder.

"Do you _mind_?" Arthur griped.

"It turns orange before it turns white and it only turns blue once," Alfred replied, pointing out the inaccurate portions of the essay with his quill. He frowned as he stared at the essay and the book sitting nearby. "Aren't you supposed to write the essay _after_ you make the potion?"

"I tried! First the potion turned to cement and then it shot out green sparks. Trust me, it's easiest if I rely on the textbook instead of setting the dungeon on fire." Kiku arched his eyebrow. "Again," Arthur added under his breath.

Alfred grinned. "Well that's easy enough to fix. I'll show you how to make it." He grabbed Arthur's potions book and set a quick pace through the library shelves and then down the hallway corridors until he reached the potions classroom in the dungeon, secure in the knowledge that Arthur would follow if only to reclaim his textbook.

He grabbed the four ingredients off the shelf and set them on the table as Arthur strode into the classroom. They stared at each other from across the room. Alfred could feel his heart beating faster and he didn't think it was from his walk to the dungeon. He had liked Arthur from the moment they met, but he was starting to realize that he _like_-liked Arthur. It suddenly became imperative that he find a way back into Arthur's good graces.

"For the record, if we blow up the dungeon, it's on your head," the object of his affections muttered, glaring at the ingredients like they had personally offended him.

"Sure," Alfred absent-mindedly agreed, still a little dazed by the realization that he had fallen bad for a short English boy with an even shorter temper.

"Well? Stop dawdling and show me how this is done."

Following Alfred's instructions, Arthur mixed in the ingredients, carefully stirring the potion through a kaleidoscope of colors, until he reached the third-to-last stage: a gray and shimmery draught. They both held their breaths as the potion simmered, slowing darkening and reddening into a bright orange. At just the right moment, Alfred added the final ingredient, causing the entire potion to glow white.

When the potion failed to explode, Arthur released a sigh of relief. He offered Alfred a tentative smile before jotting down his observations in his notes. He leaned over the desk and scribbled furiously while the thoughts were still fresh in his head.

Meanwhile Alfred used the stirring spoon to try a bit of the potion.

"Are you insane?" Arthur shouted, grabbing the spoon out of Alfred's hands.

"No. I'm just testing to make sure it worked," Alfred calmly replied. "Good news, it did."

Arthur scowled and whacked Alfred with the spoon. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. This potion can send you into a deep sleep if it's not made properly."

"Aw, Kirkland, if you're feeling anxious, we've got the cure right here." Alfred smiled and offered the spoon.

"I'd prefer rum, but I suppose this will have to do," Arthur replied, taking a sip for himself. His posture subtly relaxed as he drank the potion. Even his frown loosened into an expression that almost approached a smile. He looked nice. Alfred suddenly wished he could see Arthur happy and relaxed more often.

"Want to try making another one? What are you supposed to work on next week?" Alfred asked, eager to find an excuse to extend his time with Arthur. It was like they were back on the Hogwarts Express, simply enjoying each other's company.

Arthur replied with a faint blush and a single word: "Amortentia."

Alfred grinned and nodded happily. "Ooh, another tricky one. The Potions Master keeps the main ingredients locked up to make sure no one brews love potions when she isn't looking. But I can show you most of the steps."

He proceeded to do just that, enjoying every second that they stood together, adding ingredients to the simmering pot and acting like people who actually enjoyed each other's company, as opposed to two students on different Quidditch teams caught in a vicious inter-house rivalry. It felt a little like Romeo and Juliet, except that Alfred wasn't going to make a Draught of Living Death to create the appearance of death or an Elixir of Life as the cure. He had enjoyed that play a lot more once he realized it was about potions.

Alfred explained how the only antidote to a love potion was a hate potion. Both potions were brewed using the same ingredients, but in reverse order. The final ingredient was a piece of hair from the object of (dis)affection.

Sitting together at one of the potions tables, they chatted about potions and Shakespeare and completely lost track of time. Arthur explained that Macbeth was a morality play warning against the dangers of relying on divination, though there was no truth to the claim that Shakespeare used real spells in the text.

"I think Shakespeare must have been a wizard," Arthur explained. "The play's a very good examination of Scottish divination techniques for that time period."

"Huh, that's cool. I've never been very good at divination," Alfred admitted.

"Oh? Perhaps I could teach you. It's one of my better subjects."

"Really? Can you tell me my future?" Alfred asked with a smile as he offered his palm. He grinned happily as Arthur took hold of his hand. It felt nice to have the Gryffindor smoothly caress his palm. His hands were smaller than Alfred's, but they still felt strong and warm.

Arthur carefully examined the three major lines—the love line, the head line, and the life line. Reading the lines, he could see a long and happy love life. The head line showed creativity, along with a taste of adventure and great enthusiasm for life. Most intriguingly, the life line showed that Alfred would soon face an important decision. Of course, Arthur wasn't going to tell Alfred a word of that. He glibly provided a more negative fortune to lower Alfred's spirits before the next Quidditch game. Arthur pointed to different lines on the hand and 'explained' their meaning:

"Your love line is filled with a slew of temporary and meaningless relationships, probably because you have a selfish and materialistic outlook when it comes to love. Your attention span is short and you don't enjoy deep thinking. You prefer working toward physical achievements rather than mental ones. And it looks like you're going to have a nervous breakdown soon."

"Sorry, what'd you say? I wasn't paying attention." Alfred grinned. "Seriously, dude, even I can tell that you were bullshitting that, and I suck at divination. Give me a proper reading."

Considering that Alfred had just helped him with a potion and could be rather nice when he chose, Arthur relented. He summoned a pair of tea cups and some of his favorite tea.

"Fine, fine. Palms aren't very informative anyway. Let me boil some water... tessomancy has always been my strongest divination skill."

Once the tea was prepared and served, Alfred stared at the cup with a skeptical look. He took a sip and wished that Arthur had summoned some sugar. Plain tea was nasty and bitter. With an expression of great suffering, Alfred managed to finish the entire drink. He needed to get to the bottom so Arthur could read the tea leaves. He hoped that he had an amazing fortune to make up for it.

They finished at the same time (Arthur because he was savoring the cup, Alfred because he couldn't manage to drink the entire thing in one gulp) and exchanged cups. Arthur glanced at the grounds at the bottom of the tea cup. He planned to fake a prophecy by rolling his eyes into the back of his head, spouting some grim-sounding nonsense in a dark voice, and then pretending that he didn't remember what had happened afterward (the mark of a true prophecy). He'd used the trick before on the gullible and the results were always hilarious.

That was what he intended, but as soon Arthur rolled his eyes back into his head, swayed dramatically, and prepared to deliver his 'prophecy,' Alfred wrecked the plan.

"Arthur!" the other boy shouted frantically, gripping Arthur by the shoulders. Arthur didn't have time to react before Alfred scooped him up into his arms and raced to the classroom exit. He thought he heard the sound of a tea cup breaking as it hit the floor.

Two thoughts shot through Arthur's head. First, he realized that Alfred had very muscular arms and a firm chest. Second, he knew he would die of mortification if anyone saw them like this.

"Put me down! Put me down!" Arthur shouted just as they reached the final row of desks.

"Arthur! Are you okay?" Alfred asked frantically, his blue eyes searching Arthur's face for any sign of magical illness or distress. The level of palpable concern was almost endearing.

"Of course I'm fine, you twit. Haven't you seen anyone deliver a prophecy before?" Arthur sighed. "You've completely ruined it. Now we're never going to know what your tea leaves said."

Alfred bit his lip—something he often did when he was worried or thinking hard, not that Arthur paid attention to those sorts of things. He shook his head and said, "I still think you should go to the nurse. You look pretty red."

Arthur frowned and hoped that Alfred mistook his red face for anger instead of embarrassment. He didn't want Alfred to start teasing him based on his misguided crush. Then he realized that Alfred was still holding him. Arthur was short, but he wasn't _that_ short, and Alfred was just carrying him around like he weighed nothing.

"You can set me down," he reminded the Slytherin boy.

Alfred flushed and complied—with their tomato-red faces, the two of them could have set Antonio into paroxysms of joy. They were standing close, too close, and Arthur was acutely aware that he could easily lean forward on his toes and press his lips against Alfred's. The whisper of air as Alfred began to close the distance between them brought Arthur back to his senses. He jerked backwards, stumbling heavily against a table.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Alfred asked.

"Perhaps I will go see the nurse," Arthur murmured, before slipping out of the room.

Alfred watched as Arthur disappeared down the corridor. He cleaned up the broken tea cup with a quick spell. He reached for Arthur's cup, which was still sitting on the table. Alfred glanced at the tea leaves, but they just looked like a Rorschach test. He could see... a squiggly line and a cat.

He pondered the portents for a few minutes, before deciding that they probably didn't mean anything.

* * *

The next time Alfred passed Arthur in the hallway he considered a friendly greeting instead of an insult, but the Brit beat him to the punch:

"It's amazing your broom can even hold an ego as large as yours," Arthur said with a smirk.

"Well it didn't have any trouble carrying me and your mom last night," Alfred replied.

From the sudden silence in the corridor, he could tell that he had said something horribly wrong. What was wrong with Brits? Didn't everyone love a good 'your momma' joke? Alfred watched, perplexed, as Arthur silently stalked away.

Sometime later, Francis explained that Arthur was an orphan.

Alfred spent the rest of the day slowly beating his head against the wall.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

That awkward moment when you make a 'your momma' joke to an orphan. Ooops.

"Wazzock" is old-fashioned UK slang for a stupid or annoying person. Unfortunately for Alfred, I believe he may be outclassed in the insult department. Sometimes I write Arthur as a tetchy character just so I can enjoy him insulting everyone. Sorry if he's being a little too crabby here. Poor guy has had a bad time from some of the BFT's pranks, so he's not sure what to think of Alfred.

...

_Fire Bear1_: When Gilbert goes on to play professional Quidditch, he'll officially adopt the name Gilbert Awesome.

_elizabeta H. Austria_: Oh, yes. There will definitely be fluff. Eventually :)

...

**Update Schedule**

Don't get used to the one-chapter-a-day updates. Most of the additions and revisions I'm making occur later in the story, so updates are going to come slightly slower now :)


	4. All Hallows' Eve

_[Warning! Brief discussion of death this chapter]_

**Chapter IV: All Hallows' Eve**

The week before Halloween, the Great Hall buzzed with excitement about the upcoming Hallowe'en Feast and the first Hogsmeade weekend. Although the first and second years were disappointed they couldn't visit Hogsmeade, they consoled themselves with the promise of candy and treats at the feast. Third years discussed what they would purchase at the joke shops, while older students planned dates and made dares about who could drink the most butterbeer.

Mostly ignoring the conversations around him, Arthur ate his breakfast methodically. He couldn't help but notice that Alfred kept looking his way and the boy's attention made him suspicious. Peter was also giving him foul looks from down the table, although his were easier to ignore. Arthur was used to his cousin's bad behavior. He calmly buttered his toast, determined not to let either boy see him upset.

As the students finished eating, the owls swooped into the dining hall, delivering the daily post in a flutter of wing beats. Arthur was surprised when his owl Guinevere dropped a letter into his lap. He breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he saw that it wasn't another howler from his aunt and uncle. Unfolding the letter carefully, he narrowed his eyes as he recognized the cramped and nearly illegible handwriting as Alfred's.

_Arthur,_

_I'm really really really sorry about the joke. If I can make it up to you by brewing a potion of your choice, meet me in the potions room at 4pm today._

_Sorry,  
AFJ_

Though they were on opposite sides of the dining hall, Arthur could swear he saw Alfred giving him a pleading, puppy-dog look from across the room. Keeping his face carefully blank, Arthur folded the letter and stuck it in his pocket. He left with the rest of the seventh-years for their early morning History of Magic class.

Arthur loved the class but found it hard to concentrate that day, even though his professor's discussion of Halloween through the ages was fascinating and he was normally interested in the way muggles had adopted traditions from the wizarding world. He drifted through his classes, completely distracted by indecision. Arthur bit his quill and doodled on his scroll instead of taking notes in Divination. Kiku gently nudged him a few times during class, warning him before the professor walked over. Arthur did just enough to make it through class, still lost in thought.

He had been angry at first, though the anger quickly passed. He knew that Alfred could be thoughtless and careless, but he didn't think the boy was cruel. Alfred just had the power to throw his emotions into a whirlwind—to flip him between happiness and anger with the wave of his wand. Arthur could easily shrug off the slings and arrows of everyday life, yet it hurt a little more when they came from Alfred. He believed the apology to be sincere, but questioned why Alfred was so persistent in his efforts to spend time with him. The most logical explanation was that the Slytherin seeker hoped to learn more about the opposition and use it to his advantage. But another part of him wondered if the hallway insults hadn't been a form of playground courtship.

In the end, it was practicality that convinced Arthur to go. He needed as much help with potions as he could get.

* * *

Arthur arrived a little early to check the potions dungeon for traps. Hearing noises from the potions storeroom, he gripped his wand and carefully approached the door. The noises drew closer and he watched Alfred saunter through the door carrying an armful of potion ingredients, which the boy unceremoniously dumped on the closest table. Alfred turned around and started in fright. As his eyes focused on Arthur, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, h-hey, dude," he stuttered. "You're really pale."

"So are you," Arthur replied, giving Alfred an unimpressed look. He wondered if the other boy had been spending too much time in the potions classroom and not enough time outside in the sunshine. His normally tanned skin looked as white as a ghost.

Alfred laughed uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's nothing." He stared at the floor. "I'm sorry. About the joke." He looked up, his beautiful blue eyes gazing at Arthur beseechingly.

Arthur shrugged and slipped his wand back into his pocket. "I know you didn't mean it. But you should think before you speak."

"Yeah, sometimes I just... don't think at all." Alfred chuckled ruefully, his skin slowly returning to its normal golden hue. He stepped forward and slung an arm around Arthur's shoulder, pulling him over to the table as he pointed to the piles of ashwinder eggs, rose thorns, peppermint, and powdered moonstone. "You said you were studying Amortentia next, right?"

"Yes..." Arthur agreed as he eyed the ingredients warily, "...but I thought they kept the love potion ingredients under lock and key?"

"I have my ways." Alfred grinned mischievously and refused to explain his 'super secret' methods. (He didn't want Arthur to know that it had been as simple as asking the Potions Master for a key.)

* * *

After a half-hour of touch-and-go stirring, Arthur watched the delicate heart-shaped swirls drift upward from the cauldron. He had actually made the love potion properly and with only a smidgeon of help. It was some sort of miracle. They stood together watching the potion bubble merrily.

Alfred wrinkled his nose and took a step back. "The scents are different for each person, based on what you love best," he explained. "My friends always say I must have a bad sense of taste 'cause I smell burnt stuff."

"Can you smell anything else?" Arthur asked curiously. He wondered what the American liked best. Surely it would be something like hamburgers and pancakes. Alfred's appetite was legendary, even among those who lived in different Houses.

Alfred closed his eyes as he sniffed the air delicately. "Well, it's mostly something burnt, but underneath I smell mint and..." he paused as he tried to identify the final one. "I don't know. Flowers of some sort. Maybe roses?"

Arthur's heart lurched as he recognized the tie between himself and the three scents. He loved mint tea and roses were his favorite flowers. And he was willing to bet that the burnt smell was scones (although really, they weren't _burnt_... just a bit _crisp_). But did Alfred know that? Could the potion provide scents even if Alfred didn't understand the connection himself? Or was there another bad cook who liked mint and roses at Hogwarts that Alfred fancied? More importantly, did the American even like other boys? Arthur wished he knew the answer.

Oblivious to Arthur's inner turmoil, Alfred turned to face the Gryffindor student. He grinned and asked, "How 'bout you?"

Arthur leaned over the cauldron and breathed deeply, taking in a good whiff. It was hard to find the words to describe it, but the potion smelled like sunshine and open fields on a warm summer day. He couldn't really identify the final scent. It was a bit musky, but pleasant and familiar. The scent grew undeniably stronger as Alfred stepped closer and the Gryffindor realized that he could smell the scent coming from two sources—the potion and Alfred himself.

Arthur's eyes widened. He turned to look at Alfred, who was staring at him expectantly, still waiting for an answer. The boy was standing so close that Arthur could lean forward and kiss him. He was sorely tempted, since he had wondered what those lips tasted like for almost two months. Still, just kissing him out of the blue would be incredibly awkward. Although he could always blame the kiss on the Amortentia fumes if Alfred reacted poorly. No, he thought, he needed a better plan. If they met on neutral ground, perhaps he could forget about their house rivalry.

"Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Arthur blurted.

Alfred tilted his head to the side, confused by the change of subject. "Uh, yeah."

"I realized I still owe you a divination... and Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop is rather good. Are you free at 3pm?" Arthur asked casually, his heart beating fast.

Alfred nodded, feeling confused. He wondered what divination had to do with anything as he watched Arthur quickly clean up their work area. Together they made sure that the love potion was safely disposed of down to the last drop. After Arthur left, Alfred re-shelved the remaining ingredients, still puzzling over the odd request. He didn't even _like_ tea.

It was only on the way back to his dorm that it occurred to Alfred to wonder if he had just agreed to a _date_. Sharing drinks at a cozy tea shop sounded like a great first date. He grinned from ear to ear and started to whistle, practically floating up the stairs to his room.

Eager to share his good mood and avoid his homework, Alfred hung out in the Slytherin lounge. He liked being socialable and had even brought down part of the care package sent by his parents so the other students could get a delicious taste of the United States. No one made neon cupcakes like America!

As Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio entered, Alfred couldn't wait to share his good news, but he stopped when he noticed something off about the trio. Antonio was _frowning_. Alfred didn't realize that the Spanish boy was even capable of expressions other than a cheerful smile. "What's up, Toni?" he asked.

"La vida no tiene sentido," Antonio said with a flat expression and dull eyes.

"We're trying out a new jinx," Gilbert explained, grabbing one of the neon red cupcakes from the main table. He ate it eagerly and then tried another.

"The advantage of creating our own is that no one knows the counterspell," Francis added, giving the oddly colored desserts a wide berth. Francis could be such a food snob.

"So... you made a spell to turn people into zombies?" Alfred asked, watching Antonio carefully in case he suddenly demonstrated an appetite for brains. Alfred had spent many hours on the computer preparing for the zombie apocalypse, and he was ready to fight back. He wondered if a patronus charm would work against zombies.

"Not zombies," Francis replied. "Or, at least, not the kind you are thinking of. The spell amplifies feelings of despair until they're overpowering."

Gilbert laughed. "Yep, we've got plans for Mischief Night."

"Is he going to be okay?" Alfred asked, gesturing to Antonio.

"Don't worry. We'll give him a few tomatoes and he'll be back to his awesome self."

Alfred nodded and watched them walk up the seventh year boy's room. He wondered what prank they were planning next. It was too bad he had forgotten to share his news about his Hogsmeade date with Arthur, but he knew he'd have a chance later.

* * *

With most students focused on plans for Halloween and Hogsmeade, the library was even quieter than usual. A few orange streamers hung near the entrance, the librarian's half-hearted effort to decorate for the holiday. The spider webs near the ceiling were probably real though, and not decorations.

Comfortably ensconced at a corner table, Arthur let his essay on Amortentia flow onto the page. He resisted the urge to dot his i's with hearts, although it seemed appropriate for the topic. As he finished the essay with a flourish, his face broke into a pleased grin. With Alfred's help, he felt confident that he would pass Potions and graduate Hogwarts with full honors.

Arthur had grabbed a number of books on the topic of love potions, but he hadn't needed them for his essay. He picked up the first set and began to re-shelve the books. He returned to find Kiku sitting at the table, looking at the pile of remaining love potion books with a worried expression.

"No, it's not what you're thinking," Arthur explained. "I'm doing research."

Kiku arched an eyebrow and held up "_Amata's Advice for Besotted Witches_."

"Research!" Arthur protested as he blushed and snatched the book out of the Ravenclaw's hands. He left the advice book on the shelf, though he carefully noted its location for later.

* * *

On the night before Halloween, Alfred woke up to the sound of knocking on his bedroom door. Grumbling, he rolled out of bed and wrapped the duvet around his body. He walked across the dark room and opened the door.

He blinked and looked up and down the dimly lit staircase, but he didn't see who had knocked. He heard a slight hissing sound and looked at his feet. He saw an ordinary brown bag. Wary, Alfred took a step back. He shrieked as a glowing green snake slithered out of the bag and aimed directly between his feet. The snake disappeared in a loud explosion of green smoke.

Three different sets of laughter erupted from the stairs below. Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert emerged from behind a bend in the stairs.

"Want to go Ghost Knocking?" Francis asked cheerfully.

"G-ghost knocking?" Alfred asked. "What's that?"

"Klingelstreich!" Gilbert called.

"Rin raje," Antonio added.

"Ring and run," Francis translated. "Halloween is tomorrow, so that makes it Mischief Night."

Alfred nodded, finally recognizing that they meant ding-dong ditch. He didn't realize there was a special night for mischief. He followed the trio down the stairs, still a little worried about what would happen if they were caught. But he didn't want to look like a coward in front of the other students, so he agreed to help them pull the prank.

Francis handed out the bags and explained the plan. Exactly at the stroke of midnight, they would place one each outside the other three houses. Gilbert took Ravenclaw, Antonio Hufflepuff, and Francis was ready to distract the caretaker. That left Alfred with Gryffindor. Holding the bag away from his body in case the snake decided to attack again, he hid in an alcove near the dormitory and waited for the appointed hour. He levitated the bag until it was in front of the door, taking care not to wake the Fat Lady.

As the bell began to toll midnight, Alfred aimed his wand at the wall above the painting. "Pulso!" he yelled, creating a loud pounding on the wall.

"Who's there? Intruder! Intruder!" the painting shouted as she woke from her slumber.

Alfred grinned and raced down the hall, keeping hidden in the darkness. He made it up several floors without notice but started to panic when he saw the light of the caretaker's lantern in the middle of the hallway, blocking him from Slytherin dorm. Alfred hid in the stairwell, waiting for Francis to distract the old man from his rounds.

He heard laughter on the other side of the hallway and saw Gilbert and Antonio approach.

The hallway suddenly lit up with a flurry of spells as a half-dozen prefects from the other three houses leapt out of hiding. Shouting spells and jinxes, they took down Gilbert and Antonio in seconds before Alfred could even ready his wand. He guessed that the prefects had ambushed Francis earlier.

"Did you really think we wouldn't expect you to do something tonight?" Arthur asked with a cocky smirk, his foot resting on Antonio's back.

Alfred gaped, feeling a new measure of appreciation for Arthur's skills. He was particularly impressed by how confident and feisty the Gryffindor boy looked. Alfred hadn't expected such dueling skills from the studious boy. Fortunately for Alfred, the prefects were expecting three pranksters, not four. He pressed his back against the stair well and waited for Arthur and the prefects to drag the pranksters to the headmaster's office.

Alfred silently apologized as they passed, but he didn't want to get in trouble and risk losing his chance to visit Hogsmeade. He slunk back to the dorm with none the wiser.

* * *

The trio ended up banned from the Hallowe'en Feast. Alfred felt sorry for them, although they didn't seem to begrudge him his escape. Slytherins were expected to look out for themselves first, after all.

The whole school eagerly anticipated the feast because of the impressive decorations, food, and entertainment. To celebrate the holiday, the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual bats, orange streamers, and giant pumpkins carved into lanterns large enough for three people to sit in (not that Alfred expected any of the students to try sitting in a giant pumpkin). There were even rumors that the headmaster had booked a group of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.

More important than the decorations were the delicious treats that always accompanied the Hallowe'en feast: caramel apples, candy-filled pumpkins, orange lollipops, chocolate cauldrons, and soul cakes. It was all enough sugar to make even Alfred impressed. And Alfred was used to having lots of brightly colored pieces of candy.

After gorging himself on delicious candy, the American leaned back and eagerly waited for the show. He laughed as rolls of toilet paper streamed from the ceiling, covering the room in white lines. Judging from the livid look on the caretaker's face, that wasn't part of the plan. Apparently the Slytherin trio could make their presence felt even when they weren't allowed to attend the feast itself.

The lights dimmed and the Hogwarts ghosts popped out of the wall. Alfred shrieked, but his scream was thankfully hidden by the excited cheers around him. Shivering, he took one look at the ghosts and fled the room.

Alfred darted down the corridors, which seemed to lengthen and darken as he ran. What had been a charmingly gothic castle, now looked terrifyingly sinister. He checked his pockets for the ghost-repellant charm that had been a parting gift from his parents. It was still there, leaving him to wonder why it had stopped working.

Movement out of the corner of his eye sent Alfred racing down a different hallway. Sweat trickled down his spine. He thought he knew the hallways well after two months of classes, but in the desolate darkness nothing looked familiar. He was lost and nothing could stop the ghosts from finding him. He paled as a dim glow appeared at the end of the corridor. Alfred pushed open a classroom door and hid beneath a desk near the back wall, shivering and whimpering in fear. His hands turned white as he gripped his knees against his chest.

Alfred covered his mouth with his hand, trying to muffle any noise because he couldn't stop breathing fast. He froze as he heard the door creak open, paralyzed with fear. The ghost was in the room. The ghost was looking for him.

"Jones?" Arthur called. "Are you in here?"

Alfred went limp with relief, then a scant second later panicked when he realized that Arthur must have seen him run away from the ghosts at the Hallowe'en Feast. He bit his lip, embarrassed by his silly fear. He wanted someone to hold him the way his parents did when he was a child, but he felt pathetic and worried that Arthur would laugh at him. Still too scared to speak, Alfred held his breath as the light at the end of Arthur's wand drew closer. Moments later Arthur's head peeked beneath the desk.

"Jones?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

Alfred cracked when he saw the kind worry in Arthur's eyes. He launched himself into the Arthur's arms, shaking even as he gripped the other boy tightly. Arthur murmured soothing noises and rubbed Alfred's back with gentle circular motions. "What's wrong?" he asked gently after a few moments of silence for Alfred to calm down.

"My g-ghost-be-gone broke," Alfred stuttered. He let go of Arthur long enough to pull the broken charm out of his pocket and offer it to Gryffindor. The charm had worked so well for the first two months that Alfred didn't know what he would do without it.

The English boy studied the charm and nodded to himself. "It's not broken, it just needs a bit of a spell recharge. Four ghosts on Halloween was too much for it, I'm guessing."

"Can you fix it?" Alfred asked, his eyes pleading.

"I think so." Arthur licked his lips carefully. He set the charm on a table and used a repair spell to restore its power. Satisfied by his repairs, he returned the charm to Alfred with a smile. "There, right as rain."

"Thanks," Alfred said, grinning back weakly as he pocketed the charm.

"We should head back to the feast," Arthur suggested. The idea of returning to the dining hall, with its flying formation of frights created a surge of panic in Alfred's chest. He shook his head and grabbed Arthur's arm. "Or perhaps not," Arthur said, retracting his earlier suggestion as he watched the other boy's terrified response. He patted Alfred's hand gently and sat down with him underneath the desk, giving the lad a reassuring glance as Alfred's heart beat returned to normal. They sat close together, leaning against the wall.

"I'm sorry. It's stupid," Alfred said, wishing that he were brave enough to face the ghosts. "You should go back," he added, even though he felt much better having Arthur sit next to him.

"I've seen six years, it gets a little old," Arthur said with a shrug. "And you don't need to apologize. It's irrational, but emotions often are." His lips quirked upward as he thought of his own irrational desire for a ridiculous, handsome American who was apparently terrified of ghosts. He wrapped his arm around the Slytherin as the boy leaned against his side. He felt Alfred relax against him and pillow his head on Arthur's shoulder.

"There was a ghost in my house growing up," Alfred whispered. "He didn't have a form, just a soft voice. Sometimes you wouldn't even know he was talking." Alfred paused for several minutes, his grip tightening on Arthur's arm. "My parents didn't believe me because they never saw or heard him. Then one day he told me to ask about my twin. We moved after that, but every ghost reminds me of him."

"You have a twin?"

Alfred nodded, keeping his eyes on the floor. "Yeah... he was stillborn. I think he died a few days before I was born."

Although Arthur was normally a brave person, even he shivered a little at Alfred's story. "I can see why you don't like ghosts," he weakly replied. He rather liked poltergeists himself, since it was interesting to learn history from people who had lived through it, but he didn't think Alfred wanted to hear history lessons at the moment. Arthur also took comfort in the idea that some part of a person lived on after death. He occasionally wished that his own parents had become ghosts, but he knew that it was mostly a selfish desire. Still, he hoped that they were happy somewhere beyond the veil. Of all the mysteries studied in the Department of Mysteries, Death was the last and greatest.

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for Alfred to calm down, then opened them to discover early morning sunshine pouring into the room. He yawned and rubbed the crick in his neck with his left arm. Alfred was still slumbering on his right shoulder, soft snores emerging from his slack mouth. Alfred's glasses were smuggled and a bit off-kilter. He looked peaceful in his sleep, but Arthur woke him up anyway. They both needed to return to their dorms if they wanted to avoid getting into trouble for breaking curfew, especially since all students woke up a little earlier for Hogsmeade weekend.

With a bit of careful timing, Arthur managed to slip through the common room and up the stairs without anyone noticing. He returned to his room just as his roommates were rolling out of bed. He simply pretended that he had woken up a bit earlier and was returning from the restroom. His roommates, still bleary-eyed as they climbed out of bed, didn't notice his day-old clothes.

Arthur changed into casual clothing for the Hogsmeade visit—soft chinos and a warm jumper. He took a bit longer to pick his clothes than normal and gave himself an appraising look in the mirror. The forest green jumper really brought out the green in his eyes, if he did say so himself.

In a happy mood, Arthur descended to the common room and was surprised to find the Head of House waiting for him. He panicked for a moment, wondering if the professor knew about his late-night escapade.

The professor took a deep breath, preparing to deliver bad news. "Arthur... I'm afraid your aunt and uncle have revoked your permission to travel to Hogsmeade."

Arthur blinked, gobsmacked by the unexpected news. "Can they do that?" he asked.

"We've never had anyone do it before, but we can't let you travel to Hogsmeade when your guardians are opposed." Though he wasn't a particularly affectionate man, he gave Arthur a sympathetic pat on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I wanted to let you know now, instead of delivering the news in front of everyone."

Arthur stared at the floor to hide the anger in his eyes. This was his aunt and uncle's punishment for refusing to let Peter be part of the team. They were petty and mean, just like his cousin. He controlled his voice, doing his best to hide his anger and hurt. "I understand. Thank you for telling me, Professor."

Arthur watched jealously as the other students poured out of the common room into the great hallway. He returned to his bedroom and stared at the ceiling, wishing there was some way to let Alfred know that he wouldn't be able to meet him for tea. He didn't want to send a message with his own housemates. He would just have to explain later.

* * *

Alfred examined his reflection critically, wishing he had brought nicer clothes across the Atlantic. Still, he thought the jeans looked nice with his Wizard Rock t-shirt.

"Oh, my. Dressing up for someone special?" Francis asked from the doorway, grinning as he gave Alfred an appraising look. "Is it the pretty little Hufflepuff?"

Alfred laughed. "Nope! It's Arthur."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a second," Gilbert called from the hallway. He stepped into the room making a timeout signal with his hands. "You can't date the other team's seeker."

"I agree, _mon ami_. The idea was that he would be distracted by you. A relationship would cause more problems than it is worth."

Alfred stared, surprised by the opposition from his teammates. "But you dated Arthur!" he accused Francis. "Why can't I?"

"Well, I would not call it dating. And it was before he joined their Quidditch team."

"Come on, I promise I won't let it affect the team."

Francis sighed. "It's not as simple as that. It will have impacts, whether you want it or not. You might not even realize the effects. What will you do if you see Arthur hurt on the field? Will you continue to seek the snitch or fly to his aid?"

Alfred bit his lip. "I'd go for the snitch," he said, but without his usual conviction.

"Trust the awesome me. If you want the Quidditch Cup, you got to break up, not hook up," Gilbert advised. "I'd suggest skipping your date."

An unpleasant feeling in the pit of Alfred's stomach told him that he was making a bad decision, but he nodded anyway.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

And... here's the first major revision! I completely forgot about the Hallowe'en Feast the first time around, even though it's an important part of the books. I also didn't include anything about the ghosts in the first version, mostly because I don't really like their characters that much. So this will probably be all of the ghosts I include in this story.

I was thinking of a good reason for Alfred to be scared of ghosts, and I might have thought of the creepiest thing ever. If it's not clear from the story, the inference is that Alfred heard the voice of his dead twin, who was obviously a little upset that Alfred lived. I looked up to see if one twin dying at birth is a thing that happens (answer: it is) and apparently there are support groups for 'twinless twins'. Now please excuse me while I cry over Fred and George.

...

**Halloween Notes**

"All Hallows' Eve" is the original name for Halloween. The name refers to "Hallows" (an old term for saint or holy person) because November 1st is All Saints Day / Day of the Dead. Also, soul cakes are a tradition of giving out food to people who went door to door, saying prayers for the recently departed. Trick-or-treating (AKA guising) probably developed from this custom. Halloween: the more you know, the creepier it gets!

...

_Ember Hinote_: Since you followed it the first time so you already know 78% of what will happen :)

_Fire Bear1_: No worries. I'll probably catch it later.

_ItalianCrybaby_: Yeah, the 'your momma' joke my attempt to make Alfred a little bit mean. I'm afraid that I otherwise write him as too much of a sweetheart to be in Slytherin House.

_octopus_: Hehe, it helps that people underestimate Alfred's intelligence. (I see him as the character who bounces along, acting like a goofball most of the time, but who can be quite smart when he applies himself.)

_SukiWilliams_: Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it.

_Marichinocherry_: Yes, poor Arthur. His prank relied on a basic level of Divinations knowledge that Alfred just didn't have.

_ShadowNightRose18_: I'm glad you're enjoying the Harry Potter universe! Alfred will get his tea reading eventually, but it'll be a few more chapters :)


	5. A Muddy Match

**Chapter V: A Muddy Match**

Arthur stared into the depths of the crystal ball and pondered its mysteries.

"What do you seeeee?" the professor whispered.

"Cloudy, with a good chance of rain," Arthur predicted confidently.

"Excellent! Ten points to Gryffindor!" The professor nodded, his necklaces jingling as he returned to his desk—Divinations class always seemed to attract strange teachers. "As you see, class, crystal balls are very accurate for weather forecasting. That is why they often seem to have swirly dark clouds in them. Now, put away the crystal balls and pull out your paper, quills, and tea cups."

The classroom filled with the sound of clinking china as the students set a wide assortment of tea cups onto their small tables. The students passed the tin of tea leaves from table to table while the professor used his Endless tea kettle to pour boiling water into their waiting cups. Kiku's cup was elegant—plain white without a handle. Arthur's also appeared to be plain, but tiny unicorns appeared along the rim once it was filled with boiling water. He smiled to himself, at least no one in Divinations class would mock him for a minor obsession with the mystical creature.

Arthur's smile fell as he sipped his tea. He imagined sitting with Alfred in the Hogsmeade tea shop, lightly chatting and perhaps flirting a bit as they finished their cups. Now it seemed that it would never happen. He had spotted the other boy in the halls the day after Hogsmeade weekend, but Alfred was gone before he could talk to him. He couldn't blame him for being upset that Arthur hadn't shown up for their date. Arthur sighed.

Kiku tilted his head to the side, giving Arthur a quizzical look.

"Oh, it's nothing," Arthur demurred. They exchanged cups, closely examined the shapes of the tea dregs, and drew the symbols onto their paper. "Well, Kiku, I see a fox in yours, so that's not much of a surprise, but I think this symbol on the left might be a hand fan. I believe that means a flirtatious little vixen in your future."

Kiku ducked his eyes shyly and pushed his sketching of the symbols over to Arthur. Inside Arthur's cup, the Ravenclaw student had identified a cat and a snake. Arthur pondered their meaning... although snakes were usually negative omens, this one had its tail angled toward the center of the cup—a positive sign. In that case, the snake probably meant wisdom, while the cat represented deceit, usually from a friend.

"I'll learn wisdom from someone's deceit?" Arthur asked, resting his head on his hand as he studied the symbols. It seemed like an odd fortune. Although he was unsure about his tea cup symbols, his other forecast proved entirely accurate.

After class ended, the skies turned cloudy and provided them with a week of rain.

* * *

Alfred sighed, wishing that Great Britain wasn't so damn _wet in the winter_. The day had begun with a light drizzle and got worse from there, rain flooding the Quidditch field and filling the center of the pitch with a pool of water.

The gray weather matched Alfred's mood. He wasn't sure if he was avoiding Arthur or if Arthur was avoiding him, but the end result was a week without seeing his favorite grumpy Brit in the halls of Hogwarts. He had planned to approach Arthur several times that week, but aborted his efforts at the last moment. He wanted to talk; he just didn't know what to say. Alfred had intentionally skipped their Hogsmeade date, and he hadn't even warned Arthur beforehand.

The nasty weather and Alfred's foul mood combined to make him wet and miserable as he and the rest of the Slytherin team began their weekly Quidditch practice session. The only consolation was that flying around on broomsticks meant they didn't have to let their feet touch the muddy field. The rain flattened Alfred's hair against his head and soaked his robes. He blinked a few times, readjusting his contacts, then stared out across the field in determination. Slytherin had taken an early lead in the tally for the Quidditch Cup, but Gryffindor wasn't far behind. If they wanted to keep the lead, he would need to beat Arthur at the next Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game, scheduled just before Christmas break.

Perhaps if he could show Arthur that he was a worthy opponent, the other boy would start taking him seriously. Alfred craved attention and recognition for his Quidditch prowess. And if he couldn't win the admiration of the entire school, it would be nice at least to receive grudging praise from the Gryffindor seeker.

"Alfred! Watch out!" Antonio warned.

Alfred executed a perfect barrel roll to dodge an incoming bludger. "Thanks, Toni!" he shouted back, reminding himself to get his head in the game. The Quidditch field really wasn't the best place to mull over his thoughts.

"How long are we going to practice today?" Alfred asked, dropping next to Gilbert. He tried not to sound whiny, but he really hated flying in the rain.

The older boy smirked. "Just long enough for our plan to work." He pointed to the edge of the field, as a group of students with broomsticks walked closer. "Here we go!"

Alfred frowned. It looked like the Gryffindor team, but he knew that the school had strict rules against letting two teams play at the same time. It usually resulted in rough-horsing that ended up with someone in the nurse's room. Realization dawned on Alfred. Perhaps sending someone to the nurse's room was the plan.

"Hey! What are you doing out here?" the Gryffindor team captain shouted as he glared at the Slytherin team. "We have the field scheduled today!"

Francis grinned and flew down to parlay with his opponent. "They must have mixed up the schedules," he replied, tilting his head to the side with an air of feigned innocence.

"Like hell they did," Arthur muttered.

"Of course, _mon cher_, we could always practice together."

"You mean you could practice losing," the Gryffindor captain taunted back.

"Don't let him bait you," Arthur warned, placing his hand on the captain's shoulder. "You know we aren't allowed to play on the field at the same time. Not after the turkey incident. Just ask the professors to clear them off."

Gilbert snorted derisively. "Kesesese. Gryffindors always go crying to the headmaster. Boo-hoo, the Slytherins are picking on us! Wah-wah, help us out!"

The Slytherin team laughed. "Just like a bunch of mudbloods," one of them murmured.

Arthur froze. He balled his hands into fists as he glared at the rival team. "Who said that?" he asked in a dangerously low voice.

Alfred glanced back and forth between the two teams, not understanding the palpable tension that hung in the air between them. "What's a mudblood?" he asked, confused. He found himself the focus of six angry glares from the Gryffindor team and one betrayed look from Arthur himself.

"I've changed my mind," Arthur growled. "Let's play."

* * *

The pick-up game between the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams proved to be the nastiest Quidditch match Alfred had ever seen. Without referees to keep them in check, the two teams eagerly performed nearly every foul possible in the game—grabbing the tail of each other's broomsticks, deliberately colliding in mid-air, elbowing the other players, and using the bats to hit players instead of bludgers. The only foul they avoided was pulling out their wands to cast spells on the opposing team. It was a rough match, but both sides wanted to keep it as a _Quidditch_ match instead of turning the game into a seven-on-seven airborne duel.

A bludger knocked into Alfred's broom, causing him to spin in the air before he righted himself. He grimaced, glad that the bludger hadn't hit _him_ this time. He already had several bruises on his arms and legs from earlier in the game, not to mention one very close call that would have resulted in a broken nose if he hadn't dodged fast enough.

In addition to a number of broken bones among the players, one Gryffindor beater had already been knocked unconscious, leaving the Gryffindors without a replacement. For some reason, the remaining Gryffindor beater decided to focus all of her bludger attacks on Alfred. Although the Slytherin beaters did their best to protect him, even they couldn't stop the unending barrage. He gripped his broom tightly as the rain turned to a torrential downpour and tried to keep his distance. The rain limited visibility, dulling colors and making it harder to tell friend from foe.

Meanwhile Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio took advantage of the beater's focus on Alfred to rack up a high score with the use of strategic fouls. No one played a dirty game as well as them. After less than an hour, they were leading Gryffindor by over 100 points. The teams would have cheated while keeping score, but the scoreboards at the edge of the field worked by magic and even the trio hadn't yet figured out a way to fudge the numbers. Alfred tried to take some comfort from his team's high score, but he mostly felt cold and wet and bruised. He hated the rain. And it would be impossible to spot the snitch unless it was right in front of his face. As far as he was concerned, Quidditch games were meant for warm and sunny days, not rainy, cold, miserable ones.

He saw Arthur zooming across the field and almost felt more relief than disappointment as he heard the other seeker shout: "Got it! Got it!" The scoreboard flashed, showing that the Gryffindor team had won the game. Arthur flew closer to Alfred show off his golden prize and brag. "I bet it hurts losing to a mudblood, doesn't it?"

Alfred shrugged. He hated losing, even if it wasn't a formal game. But at least he could look forward to a warm blanket and hot cup of cocoa.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Aren't you going to apologize?" he demanded.

"Oh, is that was this is about?" Alfred asked, finally realizing why Arthur was rubbing the victory in his face. "Look, I'm sorry about Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade? No, for calling me a mudblood!"

"Dude, I never said that." He felt buoyed by the small seed of doubt that flashed across the other boy's eyes, but Arthur's harsh expression soon returned.

"I know what I heard," Arthur growled dangerously. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at Alfred. "Apologize."

"Alfred! How could you decide to have a fight without us?" a voice called across the field. The accent was French, but to Alfred it sounded like a chorus of angels. The cavalry had arrived.

"That's not awesome at all!" Gilbert added.

The Slytherin trio rushed to the center of the field on their broomsticks, tossing spells left and right. The opposing team returned their volleys and the match turned into a seven-on-seven fight. Or to be more accurate, six-on-six. Despite having his wand at the ready, Arthur hadn't actually shot any spells at Alfred. In fact, the boy looked ready to cry, leading Alfred to wonder if he had been hit by a stray blast of the crying spell the trio had designed. Alfred decided he might as well drop to the ground and look for his wand. As he began to descend, he saw Arthur's expression of anger turn to panic, his voice opening as if to shout. Alfred wondered what had scared the Gryffindor boy. A second later, he had his answer as a bludger slammed into the back of his head, and everything went dark.

Arthur blanched as he watched Alfred fall several meters to the ground, splashing into the puddle at the center of the field. The referees were ready to protect students with cushioning spells in official matches, but they didn't have a referee. He dropped the snitch and swooped to the ground as fast as he could.

Even more chaos erupted on the field as the Gryffindor players flew away while the Slytherin players converged on their fallen seeker, crowding around the unconscious American. Gilbert picked him up and started carrying the boy toward the locker room.

"Arthur, we need to get out of here," a teammate anxiously called, grabbing Arthur's shoulder and trying to pull him away from Alfred. Arthur brushed away her hand and followed the Slytherins into the locker room, not even caring about the hostile looks he received. Gilbert lay unconscious teenager on one of the benches, letting his legs dangle off the side. Arthur saw the trio crowd around Alfred and feared the worst.

Arthur pushed his way closer, elbowing Gilbert to the side while Antonio ran off to fetch the nurse. "Is he all right?" Arthur asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Francis gave him a somber look. "I'm sorry, _mon lapin_, he's not breathing."

Arthur felt his heart drop to the ground. He threw himself across Alfred and buried his face in Alfred's chest. He could hear shouting in the distance, but the sound was muffled by the ringing in his ears. Tears blurred his vision.

He should have never agreed to play the stupid game.

He should have shouted soon enough to warn Alfred when he saw the bludger approaching.

He should have told Alfred how he really felt when he had the chance.

...and then he heard Gilbert snicker.

Arthur looked up. He noticed the rise and fall of Alfred's chest, felt a swell of joy, and seconds later a corresponding surge of anger. He rounded on Francis and punched the cruel boy in the face. He was still shouting and trying to tear out the frog bastard's hair when the professors found them and pulled him away.

* * *

Alfred remembered shouting in the locker room, although everything was blurry and confusing. Someone—the nurse?—pressed a potion against his lips and helped him swallow. The next thing he remembered was waking up in the nurse's office. He groaned, blinked, and cracked open his eyes. Everything hurt. His whole body felt like a giant bruise. Faces swam in front of his eyes. But at least he was warm and dry.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Gilbert asked to his left.

The fingers melded and merged. "Six?" Alfred suggested, though that didn't seem like the right answer. He tried to sit up.

Madeleine appeared on his right and pushed him back into the pillow. "What's your name? What year is it?" she asked. Those questions at least, Alfred could answer. She gave him a reassuring smile and told him that he was lucky he had a thick skull.

"Do you think we can have pancakes?" Alfred asked, feeling hungry.

Maddie laughed. "Of course we can. We can have as many pancakes as you want... once the nurse says you're free to leave."

Alfred glanced around the nurse's room, hoping to wave the nurse over so he could leave and eat dinner. He spotted her tending to Francis, who had a huge bruise around one eye. "What happened to Francis?" he asked.

"Kirkland punched him in the face."

"Wait, what?!" Alfred exclaimed. "Why?"

"_Well_... Francis slightly lied about you being dead." Gilbert grinned. "Oh man, Alfred, you should have seen Kirkland's face when he heard the news. I actually thought he was going to faint."

"That wasn't very nice," Madeleine chided.

Gilbert chuckled. "Yeah, but it _was_ hilarious. Kirkland figured out Francis was lying and that's when he punched him. Then the professors showed up and hauled him off. It's going to be so awesome to see goody-goody Kirkland get kicked off his Quidditch team because he got into a fight." Gilbert's laughter boomed throughout the room, and this time the nurse threatened to kick him out, calling him an annoying pest who was disturbing her other patients.

"They wouldn't really kick him off, would they?" Alfred asked, his tone slightly hopeful. He wanted a chance to prove that he was a better Quidditch player than Arthur, but it would also be much easier to be friends (or maybe more) without the complication of playing on rival teams. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if Arthur was kicked off his team, especially if he was expelled for reasons unrelated to Alfred. The American was still deep in thought as the nurse checked his head for any lasting damage.

"You're free to go," she said. "And be sure to take your flirty French friend with you."

* * *

On the other side of Hogwarts Castle, Arthur sat waiting. He placed his hands in his lap and wished that he hadn't let his anger get the best of him. Hitting Francis had been immensely satisfying in the short term, but exceedingly foolish in the long term. He could have risked his entire Quidditch career just for the sake of giving Francis a black eye. Worst of all, he didn't want to be sitting in the musty office, waiting for punishment. He wanted to go visit Alfred in the nurse's room and be there when the boy woke up.

He imagined holding Alfred's hand while the boy slept. And then, when Alfred started to stir, he would throw his arms around the other young man and holding him tightly as he whispered a confession into the American's ears. He imagined Alfred's ears turning red, followed by his cheeks, but he would return Arthur's confession, and perhaps kiss him when the nurse turned her back.

The sound of professors arguing outside the headmaster's office pulled Arthur out of his pleasant daydream.

"Are you saying that my students are lying?" the Slytherin Head of House asked angrily, her voice loud enough to echo up the stairwell as she climbed to the headmaster's office.

"Well, it is rather convenient that they're accusing one of my best Quidditch players," the Gryffindor Head retorted.

"And two of _my_ students are in the infirmary!"

He snorted. "We both know what happened here. The Slytherins went out on the field looking for a fight and when they lost, they pretended to be victims."

"Believe what you want, but what I saw was your student punching mine, while another one was unconscious. I expect punishment."

Arthur lifted his head as they both entered. His wet hair still clung to his face and his robes were probably dripping on the nice blue carpet, but he tried to project an air of stoic confidence. Stiff upper lip, and all that.

"Kirkland... what happened?" the Slytherin Head of House asked, giving Arthur a disappointed look. Her look reminded him of those times he had failed to make a potion in class and instead set the cauldron on fire.

Arthur was prepared, however. He had to be _mostly_ truthful. He didn't want his team in trouble, but he also didn't want the professors (or anyone else) to know the _real_ reason he had punched Francis. "The Gryffindor team had the field scheduled for practice," he explained. "We went out, discovered the other Slytherin there, and asked them to leave." True enough. "At that point, one of them called us... mudbloods... and things went from there." That was a lie. "I'm sorry for punching Bonnefoy in the face." Another lie.

The Gryffindor Head shrugged. "Yes, it's wrong to punch other students." He gave the other teacher a side glance. "Although certainly understandable given the circumstances. And I'm not surprised that a House built on blood purity would attract bigots."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course. Go after the founder. You _always_ do that. You shouldn't blame children for things that happened a millennium before they were born."

"Well, since he's in my house, punishment is my choice." The professor rubbed his beard. "I think I'll ban him from Hogsmeade weekends for the rest of the year."

"But, sir..." Arthur opened his mouth and then closed it, recognizing the merry twinkle in the professor's eyes. Of course he knew that Arthur couldn't visit Hogsmeade anyway, so the "punishment" was nothing of the sort.

"No, no, don't try to sway me. My decision is final."

"Yes, sir." Arthur nodded, trying to hide a grin.

With the professors' permission, Arthur left the room as quickly as possible. He could still hear them arguing back and forth as he raced down the stairs. After running through the hallways, Arthur was breathing hard by the time he reached the nurse's room, only to find it empty. He sighed and returned at a more leisurely pace to his own dormitory. The students cheered as he climbed over the Gryffindor entryway.

"Mudblood and proud!" one boy said as he slapped Arthur on the back.

"Yes, er... quite," Arthur hesitantly replied. He opposed blood bigotry, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to spread the idea that punching people in the face was a good solution to insults (as enjoyable as it had felt punching Francis).

"So... did you get kicked off the Quidditch team?" Peter asked, an avid gleam in his eye. "Mom and Dad are ready to buy new broomsticks for the team if I'm the seeker."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Tell them to send back their bribe, I'm still the seeker."

Peter sighed, though the rest of the Gryffindor students greeted the news with even more cheers. Once he was no longer the center of attention, Arthur slipped up to his room. After the day's exhausting events, he just wanted to lie down and turn off his brain. Sometimes Alfred seemed almost normal, but it was moments like the 'mudblood' comment from his teammate that reminded Arthur why no Slytherin could be trusted.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Thanks for the care package! Everybody* loved the cupcakes, especially the ones with star sprinkles and frosting that changed colors. _

_I got a few bruises in my last Quidditch game, but nothing serious. One month until the next Slytherin/Gryffindor match. Wish me luck!_

_Love,__  
__Alfred_

_*Well, not Francis. But he doesn't count._

* * *

Alfred pushed his way through the stadium full of red and blue and felt extremely out of place in his silver-and-green scarf. He surveyed the patriotic colors, and felt a flash of brilliance as the perfect solution fell into place. With a quick flick of his wand—and a soft "Mutari coloribus!" muttered under his breath—he switched his scarf to a pattern based on the stars and stripes. Now he would blend in with _both_ sides.

Wearing his new colors, the Slytherin ignored the confused looks as he walked past. Madeleine had decided to skip the match in favor of homework, so he was on his own. He scanned the crowd, hoping to find a classmate or acquaintance or _somebody_. Alfred didn't do well if he didn't have someone to talk to during a game.

His eyes lit up when he spotted Kiku.

The Ravenclaw Prefect had carefully maintained a personal bubble with plenty of bench space to both his left and his right. He accomplished this impressive feat with a small charm that gave everyone within arm's reach the overwhelming sense that they wanted to sit somewhere else. The charm utterly failed to work on Alfred, who was 100% confident he wanted to sit right next to Kiku. He plopped down next to the Ravenclaw student, not even noticing as Kiku shifted ever so slightly away.

Alfred pulled out his notebook and winked at Kiku. "Hey, can you do me a favor? Don't tell Kirkland about my awesome spying."

Kiku arched an eyebrow and gestured to all of the people sitting around them. He clearly didn't think it could be spying with so many people around.

Alfred disagreed. "Pfft. Of course it still counts as spying."

The Ravenclaw boy shook his head. After a few moments he pointed to the red, white, and blue scarf and gave Alfred a confused look.

"It's okay, I'm American!" Alfred cheerfully replied, as his way of explaining the unusual color combination. He proudly displayed his patriotism.

They both turned their attention back to the field as the game started. Alfred felt a little annoyed during the Gryffindor/Slytherin games that he couldn't spend as much time watching Arthur as he wanted. Because he loved watching Arthur zoom around on his broomstick. Alfred's Magical History professor had spent an entire lecture discussing brooms as phallic symbols and his discussion now made sense.

Arthur was usually a rule-obeying goody-two-shoes (or at least he _acted_ like one, Alfred thought he occasionally caught a glimpse of Arthur's wild side), but out on the Quidditch field, he looked like a free spirit. The boy's messy hair was a reminder that beneath his carefully cultivated exterior, beat a wild heart. Alfred wanted to get to know _that_ Arthur, because it seemed like they would have a hell of a good time together.

After taking notes on Arthur's strategy during the game, Alfred eventually found himself doodling pictures of Arthur in his cool American drawing style. But none of them really captured the essence of the good-looking young man.

Distressed by the amateur drawings, Kiku pulled the notebook from Alfred's hands and began sketching furiously. A few minutes later, he returned the notebook with the addition of an amazing drawing of Arthur dodging a bludger in mid-air. The Gryffindor seeker looked like the king of the skies with an intense look of concentration on his face and his robes flaring out behind him.

"Wow, you're seriously good at this," Alfred gushed as he admired the sketch. He folded it carefully and slipped the drawing into a pocket. He grinned and resumed watching the match. Kiku's picture was good, but nothing could perfectly capture the real thing.

Arthur, meanwhile, was doing his very best to ignore Alfred's presence. He wished that the other boy would stop being so infernally distracting. He was an irredeemable prat and it was definitely _his_ fault that Arthur couldn't concentrate on the game.

His eye caught a flash of gold in the stands, but he knew it was the American's hair and not the snitch. No one else's hair shimmered quite so brightly. The Gryffindor seeker narrowed his eyes as the gold shifted slightly. Only then did he realize the snitch's ploy. The clever golden snitch was using a line-of-sight trick to hide in the gold of Alfred's hair. It seemed to have sensed that Alfred was the one portion of the stadium that Arthur was desperately trying to avoid.

Well, two could play that game. Flying up to a higher elevation, and never gazing directly at the snitch, Arthur smoothly moved closer to the snitch without letting the sentient ball know that it had been spotted. Arthur was a fast and agile seeker, but more importantly, he was also a clever one.

Arthur nose-dived towards the stands, putting himself on a near collision course with Alfred. At the last moment, he pulled away, the snitch in one hand and a proud smirk on his face. He had ended the game in less than an hour, proving that muggle-borns could be just as good as any "pureblood."

Arthur spent a brief, thrilling moment to admire the awed look on Alfred's face, before he spun around and joined his teammates on the field to celebrate their victory. With their new score, Gryffindor had taken the lead in the competition for the Quidditch Cup.

* * *

"Who's awesome? I'm awesome, so awesome," Gilbert chanted his personal mantra as he shot quaffles through the hoops. Alfred grinned and continued searching for the training snitch. He needed practice finding the snitch on an overcast day. He'd set the training snitch on an hour timer, so it would automatically return to him if he didn't find it in that amount of time. Unfortunately, he still had another ten minutes to go.

"Excellent work today!" Francis called as the team began packing up the balls and bats, all eager to return to the warm indoors.

"Here, snitchy-snitchy-snitchy," Alfred called loudly, the same way he called his cat for breakfast. Unlike his cat, the snitch didn't magically appear, meowing hungrily. Alfred sighed, but instantly perked up when he spotted a flash of dull gold close to the ground. He swooped low and was rewarded with the caress of cool metal against his hand.

He jumped off his broom and turned around to return the training snitch to the lockers. At that moment, Alfred noticed what he hadn't before—the Ravenclaw Quidditch team standing between him and the locker room. He had forgotten to check the schedule (as usual), but it must have been their turn to practice after the Slytherin team finished.

"It's good that you're finally finished. I thought it would take you forever," the Ravenclaw captain complained as she directed her team to take their positions on the field.

Alfred laughed. "Well, I've got to save my best tricks for our next game," he replied. He tossed the training snitch to the Ravenclaw seeker and sauntered to the locker room. He stripped off his flying robes and tossed them into the hamper. It wasn't until he began pulling on his regular robes that he noticed that he had a visitor.

"Hey," Arthur said, blushing as he averted his gaze.

Alfred gulped. "Hey," he replied, quickly fastening his robes. He looked up at Arthur and gave the boy a hesitant smile. "You know, I heard why you punched Francis."

"That didn't have anything to do with you!" Arthur protested. "Bonnefoy just has a very punchable face."

Alfred laughed, not believing the excuse for a second. He smiled at Arthur, genuinely happy that the other boy had been so upset by his injury. It gave him hope that Arthur liked him enough to try to figure out some way that they could be friends... and perhaps more. He didn't care what the trio said. He stepped closer to Arthur and tried to read the swirling emotions in the other boy's eyes. "Look, about Hogsmeade..." Alfred began.

"I should have let you—" Arthur interrupted.

"I really wanted—" Alfred said at the same time.

They both paused for a moment, staring at each other awkwardly in the silent locker room. Arthur cleared his throat and continued, "My guardians revoked my permission to go to Hogsmeade before the weekend. They explained that they didn't think it was 'fair' for me to go into town while Peter had to stay at school."

"Wait, you weren't..." Alfred gaped, shocked to discover that they had both apparently stood each other up on their Hogsmeade date. Then the rest of Arthur's statement filtered through his ears. "Your aunt and uncle _revoked_ your permission slip? Can they do that?"

Arthur shrugged, trying to display an equanimity that he didn't feel as he leaned against a locker. "Apparently."

"That's so unfair!" Alfred protested.

"They aren't worried about _fair_. They even offered to buy the newest model of brooms for the entire Gryffindor team if the captain were to let Peter replace me as seeker."

Alfred whistled at the idea of how much it would cost to buy seven brand new brooms and then grinned. "Actually, that's not a bad idea."

"Excuse me?" Arthur asked, his body stiffening.

"Well, fast broomsticks would make up for an inexperienced seeker. And if we weren't on rival teams, that'd make things easier. You know, I bet your aunt and uncle would even give you back permission to go to Hogsmeade. I think you should do it."

Arthur crossed his arms and frowned. "You mean it'd make things easier for _you_. If you're so worried about us being on rival teams, _you_ should quit."

"Hell no. I'm not going to do that."

"Then I don't see why you would expect me to do it either."

"Maybe because I thought you _liked_ me!" Alfred slammed his locker and gave Arthur an accusatory glare. "This is about our houses isn't it? You were nice until I was sorted."

"No, I was nice until you started hanging out with those three twats you call friends. Your house has nothing to do with it." Arthur felt the anger drain out of him. He had wanted to talk to Alfred and sort through his feelings, and instead he'd made a hash of it. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache develop behind his eyes. He closed his eyes and heard Alfred leave the room, but a moment later the boy returned and pressed a jar of ointment into his hand.

"That'll help," Alfred promised, before he picked up his things and left. It did help with the headache, but Arthur was certain that there wasn't a potion in the world that could help him cure his real problem. He was in love with the one person at Hogwarts he most wished he could hate.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Ack, sorry for the slow updates. I expected this to go faster, but I'm making more changes than I originally planned.

...

_elizabeta H. Austria_: Yep, Arthur's aunt and uncle are pretty evil. They're based on the Dursleys...

_Marichinocherry_: Technically only Madeleine is the official Canada for this story.

_octopus_: I know, I love them falling asleep together more than is healthy. They're both so cute when they sleep! :)

_Ember Hinote_: Thanks!

_Guest_: Oops, that was a typo. Should have been "we moved" because it refers to Alfred's family. Thank you for pointing that out!

_Fire Bear1_: Glad you caught it! Shakespeare references are so much fun.

_01blackcat02_: That's a good idea. I might post the original version on A03 so people can see both versions.

_Alasse Bleiser_: Thanks!


	6. Best Laid Plans

**Chapter VI: Best Laid Plans**

After his conversation with Arthur, Alfred returned to the castle, head still buzzing with questions. He used to think that Arthur liked him, then he thought that the boy hated him, but now he just wasn't sure what Arthur felt at all. Fortunately, Alfred found a nice distraction from his confusing thoughts in the entrance hall: Gilbert and Antonio, staring despondently at the tally of house points.

"Guys, we have got to do something about that," Gilbert said, pointing to one of the four giant hourglasses that kept track of house points. Each house accumulated points when its students did good deeds, correctly answered questions in class, or won Quidditch matches. The houses lost points for rule-breaking. Normally students wanted to win the House Cup by collecting the most points, but the Slytherin trio decided that if they weren't going to win, they might as well lose spectacularly.

A few emeralds sat at the bottom of Slytherin's hourglass, showing that the house had managed to move into the positives, after weeks of negative tallies. If they weren't careful, they would end up tied with Hufflepuff, whose students had a difficult time collecting points because professors tended to forget that they even existed. (Although they also tended not to lose many points for the same reason.) The Ravenclaw students did well at answering questions in class, but occasionally lost points for 'being total smartarses.'

"Alfred, I _told_ you to stop answering questions correctly in Potions class," Gilbert complained.

Alfred rubbed the back of his head guiltily. "Dude, I _gave_ a wrong answer but the professor just laughed and added points for 'cheek.' She thought it was funny. I'll try to be wronger next time," he promised. (Obviously, Hogwarts lacked classes on grammar, where Alfred would have an easy time getting questions wrong.)

"I thought we would have lost mucho points after the fight with the Gryffindor team," Antonio added with a confused tilt of his head.

Gilbert grinned and held up a small potion. It wasn't anything Alfred recognized. Before he could ask what was in the bottle, Gilbert suggested, "I think we need to target the people who control the points. What do you say we do something to the Prefects' bathroom?"

"Si! Si!" Antonio agreed cheerfully.

"What's the Prefects' bathroom?" Alfred asked.

Gilbert gestured dramatically. "It's like the Shangri-La of bathrooms, dude. It's filled with stained glass windows and awesome types of bubble bath. Gilbird loves it, 'cause it's the best birdbath ever. Only Prefects know the password, but they're not very good about checking for listening charms, so that can't stop the awesome Gil."

Alfred nodded excitedly, thinking that if they went at the right time they could potentially catch Arthur in the bathroom. He grinned happily to himself, spaced out for a few moments at the delectable thought of Arthur covered in bubbles during a bubble bath, and then—when he returned to reality—hoped that Antonio and Gilbert hadn't noticed his spacey expression. Alfred tried to push Arthur out of his thoughts, but the more he tried to stop, the more the Gryffindor boy filled his head. It was like pink elephants.

Only after they had walked up to the 4th floor as Gilbert explained the plan did it occur to Alfred that pranking the Prefects' bathroom was not going to get him into Arthur's good graces. In fact, it would probably have the opposite effect. "Uh... guys, aren't you worried about getting caught?" Alfred asked, his steps slowing in the hallway.

"You can't chicken out now, amigo."

"Ja. How do you expect to be an awesome seeker if you're not willing to take risks?"

"Oh, right..." Alfred followed his bad friends into the room, feeling a tinge of guilt as he did. Arthur was right, he let his friends talk him into doing bad things. But he didn't want to stop because he wanted his Quidditch teammates to like him.

The Prefects' bathroom was just as beautiful as Gilbert described. Alfred swore he could hear a chorus of angels sing when he stepped onto the marble floors. Splashes of vibrant color filled the room where colorful rays of sunshine shone through the stained glass windows. Each window depicted beautiful mermaids and mermen, with tails for every color of the rainbow.

One of the mermen actually looked like Arthur, having the same thick eyebrows and brilliant green eyes. He had a slender, smooth body and a bright green tail, matching the color of his eyes. Alfred stepped closer to the window, hoping to get a better view. As he leaned in, the merman winked.

"You're not supposed to wear clothes in the bath," a voice that sounded remarkably like Arthur said seductively. "Shall I help you take them off?" the merman asked.

Alfred gaped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"Alfred! Stop playing with the sexy mermaid illusions and come help us with the hair-dye spell," Gilbert called from the other side of the room.

The American regretfully turned around and joined the other two Slytherins near the shelves of shampoo bottles. Gilbert instructed Alfred to start opening the bottles so he could add a small drop to each without touching the bottles.

"It's just hair dye, right?" Alfred asked as he popped open the bottles, one after another.

"Ja. Awesome green hair dye. I prepared it using my own special recipe." Antonio put the stoppers back into the bottles once Gilbert finished adding a drop to each bottle. At Alfred's surprised expression, Gilbert grinned, and added, "You didn't think my white hair and red eyes were _natural_, did you?"

"Uh... I thought maybe you had a vampire in the family tree," Alfred admitted sheepishly, following Gilbert and Antonio out of bathroom before anyone noticed their presence. Everyone would assume that the Slytherins were responsible for the prank (especially given their trademark green color), but the only thing better than breaking the rules was breaking the rules and _not getting caught_.

Gilbert continued chuckling as they strolled nonchalantly through the Hall of Hexes. "Hah! Good idea. I _did_ have a great-grandfather from Transylvania."

* * *

Breakfast the next morning was slightly more colorful as several Prefects sprouted bright green hair, Arthur among them. Alfred tried not to stare. He really liked the color on Arthur. It brought out the green in his eyes and made him look a bit punk.

Alfred briefly contemplated telling Arthur that he liked the new color, but even he could tell that the compliment would likely earn him a tongue-lashing from the Gryffindor boy.

Arthur looked particularly punk while he glared at the latest howler from his aunt. "How DARE you deny Peter a spot on the team!" the howler shrieked loud enough for even Alfred to hear it across the room. Alfred watched with interest as Arthur and Peter got into a fight over a broomstick. It looked like the latest model—with higher speeds and a better cushion. "Because it's the _rules_!" he could hear Arthur yell.

Although he wanted to continue watching Arthur, Alfred had to pay attention to the Slytherin head of house when she stalked over to the table midway through the meal and gave the trio a long glare. She crossed her arms. "Gentlemen, I think we all know that you were responsible for tampering with the Prefects' shampoo, so I want you to fess up. Jones, did you brew the hair dye?"

"No, of course not," Alfred answer truthfully. The professor knew he was skilled with potions, so it was natural (but incorrect) for her to suspect him.

"What about you three?" she asked, turning to the trio.

"I didn't touch their shampoo bottles," Gilbert said with complete honesty. He had been very careful not to _touch_ the bottles as he added drops of the potion.

"I didn't mess with the shampoo," Antonio added truthfully. He had only touched the bottles.

That left Francis, who was actually innocent because he had been busy with laundry at the time. "Wasn't me. Perhaps it was Peeves?" he suggested innocently.

Alfred shivered at the mention of the prankster ghost and turned around to make sure that there weren't any ghosts hiding in the corner.

The professor sighed. Alfred didn't like seeing the disappointment in her eyes. "I know it all seems like harmless pranks, but someone is going to get hurt one of these days and there will be serious consequences," she warned. "And honestly, you could be a little more subtle than bright green," she added under her breath.

Alfred was subdued during potions class as he continued to think about what both Arthur and his professor had said. He felt torn between his desire to maintain his reputation with his friends and his desire to have Arthur actually like him. He was starting to think that he couldn't have both.

After class, Alfred stayed behind and approached the potions master at her cauldron. "Professor... can I help you brew an antidote for the hair dye?" he offered.

She gave him a surprised glance and then smiled. "Thank you, dear. But I think the prefects would prefer I brew it myself."

He nodded. "Yeah, I get it."

"Jones... could I give you a bit of advice? Unfairly or not, we're judged by the company we keep." She paused as she added a few ingredients to the pot. "I'm not saying you should act like a Gryffindor. Honestly, they're so sanctimonious they make my teeth ache. But you should think about what _you_ want, and how your friends can help or hinder you."

"Friends who can help me?" Alfred nodded. "You're right. I think I know what I need to do."

She gave him a thoughtful look as he left, but Alfred, too busy with his own thoughts, didn't notice.

* * *

"Am I really allowed to be here?" Madeleine asked as she hesitantly took a seat on one of the sofas in the Slytherin common room. The green silk cushions had been beautiful once, but now they looked a little old and worn.

"Sure, why not?" Alfred grinned, reclining into the cushions as he rested his shoes on the coffee table. "It's not like we have a Prefect enforcing the rules."

Madeleine snorted. "I should hope not! Can you imagine anyone making one of those three into a prefect?" Alfred tried to imagine it, then shook his head. He couldn't. Maddie continued, "But I guess they'd like the job. Being able to prowl around at night. They'd take points away for following the rules and give points to rule-breakers." She grinned. Though Madeleine was normally shy and quiet, she could become talkative with her friends. Alfred loved her snarky sense of humor.

"Points to the Ravenclaws for helping them cheat on tests," he suggested.

"Points to Hufflepuff for stealing them food from the kitchen."

"Negative points to Gryffindor for winning a Quidditch match!"

"Negative points for 'such an ugly color combination'!" Maddie added, mimicking Francis's accent. "Zat is not gold! It is an ugly yellow." She and Alfred collapsed in a fit of giggles on the green sofa as they thought about the ridiculous mental image of the trio enforcing the rules in a topsy-turvy fashion. When her laughter finally died down, Madeleine leaned back against the sofa and gave Alfred a questioning look. "So... what did you want to talk about that you didn't feel like discussing in the library?"

"Well... I've got this friend..." Alfred started, focusing his gaze on the floor. "And he wanted some, uh, romantic advice..."

Maddie cut to the chase. "Does your 'friend' want to date Arthur Kirkland?"

Alfred gaped. "How'd you guess?" He jerked back and tried to adopt a neutral expression. "I mean, maybe. I didn't really ask my friend who he was interested in."

Madeleine adopted a mock-serious expression. "I'm afraid that I have bad news for your friend. There's already someone Arthur likes at this school and it isn't him."

Alfred's eyes widened. "What? _Who_?!"

"Alfred. It's obvious to anyone with eyes that Arthur fancies _you_."

His eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait, but... Ar—Kirkland doesn't like me. He yells at me sometimes and gets huffy and calls me a snake."

Madeleine rolled her eyes. "You two. So obvious _and_ oblivious." She gave Alfred a sly look. "But weren't you asking this for your friend?"

Alfred pouted. "Okay, okay, you win. I'm not asking for a friend." He gave her a pleading look. "Help me, Maddie! Sometimes I think we're maybe sorta friends, but then he turns around and says something mean or I make him angry and I don't even know what I did." He slouched on the sofa. "It's just... I dunno... ugh."

"Do you really think this is a good idea, Al? I mean, I'm not a Quidditch expert, but isn't there some rule against dating the other team?"

"Hey, I wasn't planning on dating _all_ of them."

"I know, but..."

"And the trio loves when I break rules!"

"Obviously, it's just..."

"Please, Maddie? Pretty, pretty please with maple syrup on top?"

She looked at his puppy-dog eyes and finally relented. "Okay, fine. I'll help." He cheered and grabbed her in a tight hug. Once Alfred finally let go, she pulled a piece of parchment and her quill out of her bookbag. "It's pretty clear that he fancies you, but he's not going to do anything about it because he also thinks that you're untrustworthy."

"Oh." Alfred's face fell.

"I wasn't finished. So what you need to do is show him that he's wrong about you. Let's list out all of the bad stuff you've done and then we can figure out a way to fix it."

Alfred rubbed his chin. "Well, there was the yo momma joke, and I skipped out on our Hogsmeade date, and he doesn't like the trio. He _really_ doesn't like the trio. I tricked him during out first game—but I don't think that should count. Um, I played ding-dong ditch with Gryffindor House. And dyed his hair green. Don't think he knows those were me though." He scrunched his face in thought and listed a few more minor incidents before ending with, "Oh, and I think that he thinks that I might have called him a mudblood."

Madeleine had dutifully copied down each incident, but her hand jerked and left a black line of ink across the paper at the last one. She looked up at Alfred and stared at him in shock. "Wait! What?!"

He shrugged. "Someone on the team called him a mudblood and then I asked what a mudblood was and everyone looked at me real angry. I don't know why... maybe they just heard the word 'mudblood' and drowned out the rest."

"Alfred, hush up! Someone might hear you!" She glanced around the commons room to ensure that it was still empty. "Even _using_ the m-word is rude."

"Oh," he said, as understanding dawned. "But what does it mean?"

"It's the nastiest possible way to refer to muggle-borns." She looked down at the list and sighed. "Well, with _that_ one added, I think you're going to need to try for the sainthood, become a prefect, and start an orphanage for kittens."

"I'd been thinking more along the lines of, you know, flowers."

"I don't think flowers are going to cut it, Al."

Alfred buried his face in his hands. It was unfair. It wasn't his fault—okay, the yo momma joke _had_ been his fault, but the other stuff mostly wasn't. And maybe Alfred had pushed Arthur's buttons a bit, but he thought they were just kidding around. Arthur was the one who decided to get mad and turn it into an all-out war on the Quidditch field. Alfred was pretty sure that Arthur had disliked him before, but now he suspected that Arthur hated him. If only life had an undo button, he could go back and fix everything.

The American perked up as he realized that creating an undo button was the _perfect_ solution to his Arthur problems. He'd never have to worry about saying the wrong thing ever again because he could just go back and fix it.

"...you mean like a time-turner?" Madeleine asked after Alfred laid out his awesome plan for an invention to solve all his problems.

"What's that?"

She made a small twisting motion with her hand, showing the approximate size of the magical device. "They were lockets that let you travel back in time."

Alfred bounced in his seat. "Yes! That's perfect! Where can I get one?"

"You'd need to travel back in time, I'm afraid. They were all destroyed before Wizarding War Two," she said with an apologetic shrug.

"Did they make more?" Alfred asked desperately.

"They're in the process, but I've heard it can take decades to make a new one."

"I can't wait decades!" Alfred complained. He could barely wait a few minutes. Even Alfred recognized that patience, while a virtue, wasn't one of _his_ virtues.

Madeleine tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Honestly, Alfred, I think the best place to start might be just talking with him. Find out what he thinks you said and then apologize for upsetting him. Saying sorry is quite easy, you know. I can even help you practice. Say it with me: I'm sore-ee."

"_Sawr_-ee,"

"_Sore_-ee."

The repeated it back and forth a few times, before Madeleine sighed and had to give up on Alfred's pronunciation. "Nevermind, you're hopeless."

"_Sawr_-ee," Alfred replied, ducking when Madeleine tossed a green-and-silver sofa pillow at his head. He briefly considered starting a pillow fight, but it didn't seem quite so much fun since he was still bummed out by the situation with Arthur. He leaned back into his sofa and sighed, disappointed that his brilliant time-travel plan wasn't a viable solution.

They both glanced up as Francis opened the door to the lounge. Madeleine suddenly grinned. "You know, if you want romantic advice, you should ask Francis."

The French boy glanced at her in surprise and then smiled. He took the middle seat and slung his arm around the Hufflepuff's shoulders, causing her to blush prettily. "It is true! I am a master of romance," he bragged.

The American looked at the other boy skeptically. He knew that Arthur and Francis hated each other, so Francis probably wasn't a good source of advice.

"I don't think he believes you," Madeleine said in a stage whisper.

"It is too bad. I have a simple solution. For cases like this, the best solution is a kiss."

Maddie nodded. "You know, I think that might actually work. He's holding back, so you just need to give him a little push," she said to Alfred. She then turned to face Francis and glanced up at him through her eyelashes. "Like this," she suggested. She cupped the French boy's face with her hands and leaned in to kiss him. Francis returned her kiss eagerly, turning it into a truly French kiss.

Alfred gaped, staring at them both from the other end of the sofa. Was Maddie really suggesting that he could solve all of his problems by just kissing Arthur? And why did she look like she was enjoying her kiss with Francis so much? Madeleine must have been a good kisser because even Francis looked a little starry-eyed when they finished. They turned to look at Alfred and giggled at his flabbergasted expression.

"Perhaps he needs another demonstration?" Francis suggested.

"Moi aussi," she said mischievously. Francis blinked and replied with a fluid sentence of his native tongue, thrilled to find someone who spoke the same musical language.

Alfred sighed and decided it was probably time for some solo Quidditch practice because neither of them were going to resume talking in English anytime soon, assuming that they were even _talking_ at all.

* * *

Arthur stared at his magical history book without reading. He had been hoping that Alfred would appear during their usual afternoon study time, and that they could resume their uneasy friendship. But his hopes seemed unlikely to materialize. He had been sitting at the corner table for two hours without seeing the other boy.

Seeing as how he couldn't concentrate on his homework, the Gryffindor pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. He was sick of his aunt sending him a continuous stream of howlers because he had refused to put his cousin Peter on the Quidditch team. Arthur would have made the exact same decision to keep Peter off the team even if his cousin was the best Quidditch player in the wizarding world, but fortunately, he hadn't faced a difficult decision. His annoying cousin, like most first years, was simply not a very good flyer.

Unfortunately, his aunt's howlers complaining about that decision were becoming increasingly annoying, and Arthur intended to do something about it. He wrote the note in his very finest cursive:

_Dear Aunt and Uncle,_

_From now on, all of your owls are being routed through the headmaster's office. I have spoken with him and he agreed that the howlers were becoming a disruption to the school. Please do not attempt to contact me unless it is an emergency._

_If you do not want to draw the headmaster's ire, I suggest you stop sending letters. As I have carefully explained to Peter, he is not good enough for the Quidditch team and should continue practicing if he wants a position next year. He would have a better chance if he wasn't a whiny, spoiled brat who thinks he is entitled to a position (the inevitable result of your disastrous attempt at parenting). _

_You should also be aware that first-years are not allowed to have broomsticks, so the Headmaster has confiscated your gift to Peter._

_Sincerely,__  
__Arthur_

He breathed a sigh of relief when he finished the letter. Then he jerked backward, nearly tipping over his chair as a book thumped down in front of him. He looked up to see Alfred's Hufflepuff friend, whatshername, standing next to the table. She tapped a portion of the large book. "Read this," she said.

She had opened the book—_Blood Bigotry Through the Ages_—to a section on the use of blood slurs around the world. It explained that immigration patterns in North America meant few witches or wizards could trace their lineage for more than few generations. As a result, wizarding social classes were based on wealth, rather than blood purity.

"He wasn't saying it to be rude," she explained. "He didn't know what the m-word was, until I explained it to him."

Arthur looked up from the book and could see in her intense expression that she was willing to rant at him for at least three hours. "I know," he admitted, cutting off her planned speech. He had time to think after the game, and he concluded that Alfred wasn't a good enough actor to feign ignorance so accurately. Alfred had a number of faults, but blood bigotry wasn't among them.

The Hufflepuff crossed her arms. "Well, I think you ought to tell that to Alfred. He was very upset when I told him what the word meant."

"Really?" Arthur felt a small surge of happiness, but he kept his expression carefully blank. "I suppose that's good."

"He's on the practice field right now," was all she said before she took the book back and returned it to the shelf. Arthur watched her leave with an uncertain feeling in his stomach.

"What do you think I should do?" he asked Kiku.

The Ravenclaw spent a moment drawing a quick sketch on his parchment before he passed the drawing to Arthur. The Gryffindor felt his mouth go dry as he looked at the drawing of him and Alfred kissing while on their broomsticks.

"Well, that's certainly one idea," he managed to reply. He pushed back his seat and stood with determination. "She's right. Alfred and I need to talk."

He pocketed the drawing. He planned to keep it somewhere safe, like under his pillow.

* * *

Alfred grinned, pleased to have the Quidditch field all to himself. With extra practice, he'd definitely beat Arthur at their next game.

The American practiced some speed drills first, enjoying the sunny day. He loved the feeling of freedom on a broomstick. He knew why muggles had always dreamed of flight. It was the most amazing feeling in the world. After he warmed up racing back and forth across the field, Alfred pulled out the training snitch and set the timer to one hour and tossed the snitch into the air. With every nerve on high alert, he scanned the field, following the standard back-cross grid pattern.

Alfred spotted the snitch in the lower left corner of the field, but it dodged out of his way before he could reach it. He needed to be better about sneaking up on the snitch, the way Arthur had captured it during the Ravenclaw/Gryffindor game.

"Are you looking for this?" a crisp British voice asked from the sidelines. Shivers ran up Alfred's spine. Was he just imagining it, or was Arthur trying to sound seductive?

The Slytherin turned and gawked. Arthur was riding his broom side-saddle with his legs crossed delicately at the ankles. He held the training snitch in one hand and a porcelain cup of tea in the other. Alfred picked his jaw off the ground and flew forward, accepting the offered snitch as he hovered next to Arthur.

Alfred grinned, recognizing an opportunity to restart their enjoyable insult-battles (this time _without_ yo momma jokes). He missed trading wits with Arthur. "Huh. So you _can_ catch a snitch." It was weak, but he was out of practice.

"I think you'll find that our first game was an aberration."

Alfred shivered. "I ain't afraid of no ghosts!" he quickly replied, his own personal motto when faced with the specter of specters.

"Aberration. Not apparition."

An awkward silence settled over them as both worked up the courage to apologize. Alfred coughed, clearing his throat, and finally said, "I'm really sorry that someone on my team called you... uh, yeah." He trailed off. "I should have said something at the time, but I didn't know."

"No, no. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

Alfred cracked a smile. "I guess we're both idiots. That's what Maddie says."

Arthur snorted. "Speak for yourself, I was a hat-stall for Ravenclaw, you know."

The Slytherin seeker nodded absent-mindedly. He'd been thinking of ways to ensure victory in their next Quidditch match, and his best idea thus far came from Francis, who had suggested betting with Arthur on the outcome of the match. (Francis had also proposed certain... very Francis-like terms for what the winner could do, but Alfred wasn't planning to take that suggestion.)

"Hey Kirkland, what do you say we make things interesting by having a little wager on the match?" he suggested.

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well..." Alfred said, grinning as he drew out the word in a playful manner, "I was thinking you could wear Slytherin colors for a whole day if I win."

"Hmm. Very well, I propose that if my team wins—and we will—you'll have to pay for my celebratory drinks," Arthur counter-offered.

Alfred nodded. "Deal."

They shook hands.

"I think you'll find I have the better end of our bargain, Jones," Arthur said with a mischievous smirk. "You've never seen how much I can drink." He placed one hand on his broom, before flying off, still holding his cup of tea.

The American grinned back; he'd happily pay just about anything to see Arthur get drunk, so it would be a win either way. Of course, he still wanted to _win_, but nothing stopped him from offering to buy Arthur drinks anyway. He was starting to think that his odds with Arthur weren't quite so hopeless after all...

A few minutes later, the training snitch that Alfred had originally been chasing returned to his hand, having reached the end of its timer. He stared at the two training snitches in confusion, before realizing that Arthur hadn't caught a snitch. He had just grabbed the other training snitch, to make Alfred _think_ that he had. The American grinned.

"Very sneaky, Arthur. How... Slytherin of you."

No matter who won the match, Alfred couldn't wait to see what happened afterward.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Two big pieces of news!

First, I decided that my two versions of this story have diverged enough that it makes sense to post both. The previous version (Quidditch House Rules) is now up on A03 and linked on my profile page. Obviously, that version will have spoilers for this one, although some things will change.

Second, PitFTW wrote a Halloween oneshot based on these characterizations called "Troll in the Dungeons." It's perfect and wonderful and you should all go read it. (It's in my favorites list.)

My only comment for this chapter is that at one point I considered pairing Kiku and Madeleine. I like CanPan, especially now that we know Canada is a weeb. Ahh, such cuties.

...

_Marichinocherry_: Don't worry, Peter will get his comeuppance!

_CottonCandy57_: Drunk Arthur *is* the best. Otherwise, no comment :)

_FangirlOfThe21st_: Glad you're enjoying the house swap.

_elizabeta H. Austria_: I don't know why I enjoy giving Arthur a difficult childhood, but I do really love to see him overcome adversity.

_SukiWilliams_: Haha, yeah. I do have a lot of ongoing plot threads.

_octopus_: Yep, mud clumps. You have a good memory. I can't decide which version I like better, so I'm just going to post both.

_Fire Bear1_: Thank you as always, my dear!

_Le Guest Person_: Yep, I can definitely understand why people naturally put Alfred in red and Arthur in green, but I think they're well-developed enough to work in all of the houses! Some day I will write Ravenclaw!Alfred x Hufflepuff!Arthur.

_otakumaku18_: Sure, have an update today :)


	7. Gang Aft Agley

**Chapter VII: Gang Aft Agley**

Luck was with Alfred on the day of the Gryffindor/Slytherin match, at least as far as the weather was concerned. It was about as sunny and warm as one could expect for early December in Great Britain. Alfred was just glad there wasn't any snow on the ground. Spotting the golden snitch became immensely difficult when combined with snow glare.

"What a lovely day we have for a match!" the announcer agreed. "And so many folks in the stands to see the fantastic Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match."

The American pulled on his leather gloves, glad his parents had bought him ones with a special warming charm. Mittens were warm, but made it difficult to get a good grip on his broomstick. Gloves were much better, especially for catching the snitch.

Alfred nodded at Arthur as they both took the field, but he decided to avoid any sort of pre-game taunt. He didn't want to say something he would regret. _Again_.

The Slytherin seeker didn't have a particular plan for this game. Just speed and luck and the sheer determination to be the best Quidditch player at Hogwarts. He liked to fly by the speed of his pants—he found that his unpredictability made it difficult for the other team to anticipate his moves.

Alfred had tried other positions on the Quidditch team, but he loved Seeker best. It was almost always _his_ actions that determined who won or lost the game (since the 150 points gained from catching the snitch dwarfed the 10 points for each quaffle sent through one of the three hoops). In other words, he was the Quidditch star. He especially loved the recognition and attention, even if it was sometimes negative. Mostly, Alfred loved playing Quidditch because it brought together his two great loves: broomsticks and competition. Turning broomstick flight into a sport was a brilliant idea.

The announcer counted down to the beginning of the game. "Given the way the two teams are eyeing each other, I expect a rough match! The Slytherins are very fond of their fouls, and of course Gryffindors have the guts to fight back."

As the game began, Alfred took to the sky and circled the field, watching carefully for any sight of the golden snitch. A high position gave him a good view and kept him out of the way of the other players. Given the bad blood between the two teams, both sides played roughly. By the end of the hour the referees had called fourteen fouls, awarding penalty points for egregious examples of blagging, blatching, and blurting. Alfred dodged a few bludgers, but felt relieved that the majority of the beaters' attention was on the three Slytherin chasers. He didn't envy the trio their task, although they seemed to be enjoying the attention and were taunting the Gryffindor beaters right back.

Having searched the upper area of the stadium, the American dived back into the flurry of action below. Sometimes the snitch liked to hide near other players, making it more difficult to spot.

Alfred crossed paths with Arthur a few times and he noticed that the other seeker seemed to be having trouble controlling his broomstick. The Gryffindor's normally fluid, graceful movements had turned jerky. Some of the older broomsticks became less responsive as they aged. Alfred frowned. He preferred to win because of skill, not because he had the newest and fastest model of broom, but there wasn't anything he could do about it now. He could give Arthur a new broomstick later, though the other boy would probably reject the present. Even if they were on friendly terms again, accepting a gift from your rival would be awkward. The division between their two houses didn't help.

As he passed by Arthur's position again, Alfred spotted the snitch flying behind Arthur, just outside the other boy's reach. His excited glance caused the Gryffindor seeker to peer over his shoulder, and Alfred knew he had only a second to lunge forward and grab it before Arthur did. Before either could move, though, the Gryffindor's broomstick jerked violently, leaving him hanging on upside down. For a moment, Arthur hovered in mid-air, and then his broomstick began to plummet.

Alfred felt his stomach plummet too, but he reacted instinctively. He darted forward on his own broom and reached out for the smaller boy. Arthur grabbed his hand instantly. For a second Alfred feared that Arthur would slip from his grasp; he tightened his grip and pulled Arthur close just before they hit the ground. They rolled together, end over end, off the broom before finally rolling to a stop several meters away.

"Did... I just see that?" the announcer asked. "That was unbelievable."

Alfred lifted his head off the grass and saw Arthur's back. "Arthur?" he asked, laying his hand on Arthur's shoulder. He felt an immense surge of relief as the other seeker turned to face him.

"I'm fine," Arthur murmured, before climbing unsteadily to his feet.

"Arthur! What happened? Are you okay?" His teammates crowded around their seeker, roughly pushing Alfred away. Two of Arthur's teammates escorted the Gryffindor seeker to the nurse, before Alfred had a chance to say anything to the other boy.

At the center of the field, the referees examined Arthur's broom. It took only a few spells for them to declare that it had been hexed, although they couldn't identify the source of the spell. The fans in the stadium booed and shouted in outrage.

"Sorry, folks, it looks like the refs have decided to cancel this game until they can figure out the source of interference," the announcer explained. "But we all know it was the Slytherin team."

Alfred blinked in confusion at the baseless accusation. He wasn't expecting flowers and chocolates, but a little bit of recognition would be nice. He was pretty sure he had singlehandedly saved the Gryffindor seeker from serious injury. (He would have done it anyway, but Alfred _liked_ receiving public praise, and thought he deserved some.)

The stadium cheered in approval when the refs announced that the scores for the game wouldn't count. Slytherin had been leading by 30 points, but the referees decided it was unfair to allow them to accumulate points from the game when the sudden loss of the other team's seeker appeared to be the result of sabotage. Although the game normally would have continued with a substitute seeker, the referees said they wanted a chance to check for other hexes or jinxes on the teams' broomsticks.

The American clenched his fist, torn between the desire to yell in the referee's face and his need to find Arthur and hold the other boy in his arms, just to reassure himself that Arthur really was okay. He let Francis pull him away before he did something stupid like hit someone in the face.

Alfred did punch one of the lockers, leaving a small dent in the metal as a result. He felt angry and helpless at the idea that _someone_ had messed with Arthur's broom, putting the Gryffindor seeker in serious danger. The reality of the danger was starting to sink in. If Arthur hadn't been so close when the broom failed, if he hadn't reacted so quickly... he didn't know what would have happened. The referees could cast a spell to levitate students before they hit the ground, but sometimes the falls happened too quickly, before they had time to react. Arthur could have _died_.

"_Mon ami_, don't take your frustration out on the locker," Francis said.

"It wasn't anyone on our team... was it?" Alfred asked, surveying the room for any sign of guilt. Everyone shook their head.

Gilbert laughed. "Hell no. Hexing a broom? Totally not awesome."

"Do you remember that time we put a leg-locker curse on Kirkland and he had to hop from the Gryffindor tower to the dining hall like a bunny?" Antonio reminisced.

"Now _that_ was awesome."

Once the surge of anger passed, Alfred leaned against his locker and tried to identify the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't really felt much of anything when it happened—he didn't have time to think, he had just acted. Now he felt a delayed reaction. He wanted to hold Arthur close, though he recognized that the Gryffindor's teammates probably weren't going to let that happen. It dimly occurred to Alfred that the cancelled match meant that neither of them had won the wager, although a bet seemed like a minor concern at the moment.

* * *

As soon as team finished changing, the headmaster called the entire school into the Great Hall for an announcement. He stood at the podium and gave the students of each house a stern gaze, his eyes resting finally on the Slytherins.

"As most of you are aware, someone jinxed a broom at today's Quidditch match. This was a cruel, irresponsible, potentially fatal act. I will not tolerate such threats to my students' safety. If you have any information regarding who is responsible, I urge you to come forward now. I am prepared to be lenient with those who tell the truth."

He scanned the silent hall, but no one moved.

"Very well. When I find the person responsible, and I _will_, I intend to permanently ban him or her from Quidditch matches, Hogmeade, and all school balls. I also plan to reduce his or her house's score in the Quidditch Cup by 100 points. Today will be your last chance to come to my office and face a lesser punishment. You are dismissed." The headmaster turned on his heel, sending his robes flying out behind him as he strode angrily out of the Great Hall. As soon as he left, the murmurs and rumors began.

Alfred glanced over to the Gryffindor table, where Arthur should have been sitting. Francis nudged him in the side. "Don't look now, _mon ami_. They already suspect you, don't give them any more ammunition."

"Yeah, you've already caused enough problems today," Gilbert grumbled as they walked back to their house common room. "If you had just grabbed the snitch when you had the chance we would have won!"

Francis shook his head. "Non, Alfred made the right choice. His actions created doubt in at least some minds. I think if he had chosen the snitch, they would have expelled us from this year's tournament."

"That's... a good point." Antonio agreed.

"Yeah, I guess. You know what we need?" Gilbert slapped his thigh. "Beer."

"That's your solution to everything," Francis replied with a grin.

"Because it _is _a solution to everything!"

Alfred nodded. An alcoholic distraction sounded like a good idea. He grinned as he listened to Gilbert's plan: with just their broomsticks and an aging potion, they could fly to Hogsmeade after curfew and purchase something stronger than butterbeer. They put Alfred in charge of finding or making an aging potion.

The American liked the plan. But he thought that it needed one additional ingredient.

* * *

Arthur was waiting for a distraction. The nurse kept hovering over him, insisting that he should be examined every hour to make sure he hadn't been infected by the jinx on his broomstick. She also thought he needed to be treated for shock. Arthur _knew_ the proper treatment for shock—a stiff shot of firewhiskey. He doubted that he would get that sort of medicinal drink in the nurse's office. So he waited until a herbology student staggered into the room covered in thorns, and then made his escape, stealthily ducking and weaving between the beds until he reached the door.

He took a breath of relief as he stepped outside and nearly crashed into Alfred. He barely had time to recognize the other boy before he found himself grabbed in a tight hug. Arthur froze. His family wasn't really the touchy-feely sort, so it felt odd, but a little nice to be enveloped in Alfred's warm arms and pressed against his firm chest. The other seeker smelled like sweat, a nice musky scent with a hint of the outdoors.

"Are you okay?" the American asked, his breath tickling Arthur's ear.

"I was fine," Arthur grumbled, unwilling to admit how much he enjoyed the hug, "until you squeezed the breath of out me."

"Oops." The American let go. "Look, I was thinking of..."

"Not here," Arthur warned. He grabbed Alfred by the elbow and pulled him down the corridor, out of the nurse's earshot. He didn't want to be standing just outside the door when she noticed that he had gone missing. Fortunately, Hogwarts was filled with nooks and crannies that provided useful hiding spots.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Alfred asked as he crowded into the hiding space between two statues.

"Other than people constantly inquiring about my health, I'm ducky." Arthur leaned against the wall and sighed. "Merlin's beard, I'm sick of that question. And before you ask, no, they still don't know who jinxed the broom. I'd rather not talk about it."

"Oh, okay." Alfred suddenly grinned, a mischievous spark in his eyes. "So... I guess you're feeling good enough for a trip to Hogsmeade?"

"Hogsmeade?" Arthur straightened up, intrigued. The Slytherin boy looked like he had a plan. "What do you have in mind?"

"A late-night, rule-breaking, under-age drinking trip. I mean, I know that the bet's off, but I thought you might enjoy some drinks." He pulled an aging potion out of his robe and showed it to Arthur. "And I've got our ticket in."

"I would bloody well _love_ a drink," Arthur agreed as he took the potion. After a moment's thought, he felt some of his natural skepticism reassert itself. The bottle could contain _any_ potion. What seemed like a fun plan might easily be a larger plot to ensnare him into a dangerous situation. "But I'm not sure if this is a good idea," he demurred.

"It'll be fun," Alfred promised with a wide smile and guileless blue eyes. "Since our earlier Hogsmeade date didn't work out, maybe this will be better?"

The other boy looked so hopeful that Arthur didn't have the heart to say no. "Perhaps." He paused thoughtfully. "But I'm going to need a broomstick."

"I'm happy to share mine," Alfred offered.

The idea of a moonlit ride together on a broomstick sounded romantic, but Arthur needed to have his own escape route if things went sour. "Absolutely not," Arthur said, ignoring Alfred's disappointed look. Thinking of his options, Arthur began to smirk when he realized that the broomstick his aunt and uncle sent to Peter would be the perfect solution. "Meet me at the Shrieking Shack after curfew," he told Alfred, already halfway down the hall before he heard Alfred's response.

"Shrieking... shack...? Is that _haunted_?"

Arthur grinned and kept walking. He had decided that he liked the feel of Alfred's arms around him. Perhaps the boy would be extra clingy if they started the night near an old abandoned house that everyone knew was haunted.

* * *

Ditching their robes in favor of muggle clothes, the four Slytherin boys snuck out of their dormitory windows after curfew—four dark shapes flying across the night sky.

"Can we stop by the Shrieking Shack?" Alfred shouted over the sound of the wind as they neared Hogsmeade. He probably should have told them about his plans to invite Arthur, but he figured they would just say no, so he didn't.

"Good idea! No one will bother our brooms there," Antonio agreed. They landed by the haunted house and quickly hid their broomsticks behind the shack. Alfred passed around his spare bottle of aging potion and they each took a swig, just enough to add seven years and help them pass easily as adult wizards.

When they rounded the corner, Alfred got the shock of his life. The handsomest man he had ever seen leaned against the shack's front door, his broom casually at his side. Skinny jeans hugged long legs and even underneath the pea coat and scarf, Alfred could see that he had a nice, trim form. Tousled hair stirred in the breeze as the man turned to look at them.

Alfred gaped when he saw the young man's thick eyebrows, suddenly adding together the pieces in his mind. With refined cheekbones and a more mature face, Arthur was going to be an incredible looker in his mid-20s. For once, Alfred wished he had put more thought into his own clothing choices, instead of just grabbing a t-shirt off the pile.

But even more surprising than Arthur's appearance was the trio's reaction:

"Gavin!" Gilbert cried in surprise, grinning as he stepped forward to slap Arthur on the back. "What are you doing here?"

"You should have let us know, mi amigo!"

Arthur blinked and then smirked. "I came to see the match," he lied smoothly.

"Cheering us on against the lions?" Francis suggested with a grin.

"I planned to surprise you after the game. So much for that, eh? But I figured you would come to Hogsmeade for drinks, and here you are. Older to boot."

"Who's Gavin?" Alfred asked, entirely confused by the strange conversation. The trio seemed to have older Arthur confused for someone else.

Francis smiled and made introductions. "Ah, Alfred. You have not heard of Gavin Kirkland? He and his two older brothers are _legendary_ in Slytherin. They graduated the year before us, sadly, but we have tried to keep up the mantle."

Alfred frowned. "Kirkland?"

"That's right! And I'm ready to get to drinking," Arthur interrupted.

In complete agreement with the plan to start drinking, the trio walked with him to the Three Broomsticks Pub while Alfred trailed behind, trying to understand why there were more Kirklands than he had originally believed. Leading the way, Francis pushed open the door and sauntered up to the counter. He, Antonio, and Gilbert ordered shots of firewhiskey like the old pros that they were. Arthur went with red current rum and joined them at one of the tables near the bar, where they would have no trouble getting refills. Alfred took a long look at the menu before deciding on a ginger beer. He had no idea what it was, but it sounded delicious.

Alfred joined the other three and sipped his ginger beer while confusing currents of conversation swirled around him. He didn't really know what they were talking about, so he spent most of his time surreptitiously admiring the way Arthur's clothes clung to his frame. Arthur had even picked a green shirt, so in a way they were both fulfilling their ends of the defunct wager. As he continued to ogle Arthur, the American drank his ginger beer in silence. It tasted delicious and fizzy, but he was starting to suspect that it wasn't alcoholic at all. Butter beer and ginger beer. Was _any_ 'beer' in the Hogsmeade pubs actually _beer_?

From what he could glean, Gavin was one of Arthur's older cousins, along with Connor and Scott. As the trio drank and talked, Arthur continued to steer the conversation back to the Gryffindor/Slytherin match. Listening to the scope of the questions, Alfred finally realized what Arthur was doing. He was trying to get the trio to confess to having put the jinx on his broom. Arthur sipped his rum with an annoyed expression and increasingly red face as the trio continued to maintain their innocence.

"Why hex a broom when we can beat them so easily?" Gilbert asked with a smirk as he ordered his third shot of firewhiskey. "Now, who wants to try our chances with some of these lovely witches?"

"Si! Me!" Antonio eagerly agreed. The two wandered off to try their pick-up lines on the pub's female patrons.

Francis sighed and shook his head. "Bah, we'll probably be asked to leave if Gilbert tries his 'want to ride my broomstick?' line again."

"Then I'd best drink quickly," Arthur retorted, downing his glass in record time.

They all turned to watch a commotion develop in the middle of the pub as a witch sent Gilbert flying to the floor with a well-aimed jinx. "So... that's a maybe?" Gilbert called with a grin.

Francis sighed. "I think that's my cue. I'll leave you two alone." He squeezed behind Alfred's stool on his way to rescue his two friends. He bent forward and whispered into Alfred's ear as he passed, "Take care, _mon lapin_ is a lightweight."

Alfred's head shot up. He gaped in surprise, but Francis was out of earshot before he had a chance to formulate a question. Oh shit, Francis _knew_.

* * *

Oblivious to Alfred's turmoil, Arthur formed his own brilliant plan. He had nearly swooned when he first saw Alfred. The additional seven years had done wonders for the American's physique. A bit of extra height and new muscles helped him fill out, while still leaving him tall and lean. Arthur wanted him so much that it hurt.

Now that the trio was gone, he could try out his plan: he would get the Slytherin seeker drunk and then the young man would spill all of his secrets. Arthur still needed to make sure the American was gay or at least a bit bi-curious, so around drink three, he tried some flirting. It worked marvelously. By drink four, Arthur decided that they were perfect for each other.

After finishing drink five, Arthur still felt sober, because of his amazing tolerance for alcohol, but he realized that Alfred was starting to give him strange looks and had stopped flirting back. He even had the audacity to suggest that Arthur might want to stop drinking, laughing a bit about lightweight Brits. Arthur could hold his liquor better than some American punk! He decided that Alfred was actually a huge jerk and a tease for tugging on his heartstrings and then acting clueless when Arthur tried to give him a hint or two or ten.

* * *

Alfred turned to look at Arthur and saw what Francis meant. The Gryffindor stared into his empty glass and drunkenly sighed. Out of the corner of his eye, Alfred could see that Arthur—with his flushed face and glassy eyes—had passed the point of tipsy and was well on his way to complete inebriation. "Am I a Taurus or an Aries?" Arthur slurred to himself as he pet the air. "I can't remember."

Alfred shook his head at the bartender before the man could provided them another refill. He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Arthur sniffed. "I wasn't talking to you. Was flying mint bunny."

"Okaaaay. I think you've had enough for tonight."

"Maybe you've had enough!" Arthur drunkenly complained. "I dun get it. You confuz... confuddle me. One minute, nice. Next minute, jerk. Why are the handsome ones always jocks... jerks? 's not fair."

The American grinned, happy that Arthur found him attractive. Drunken Arthur flickered through different moods like a kaleidoscope, going from flirtatious to maudlin to grumpy within heartbeats. He seemed to have settled on 'honest drunk' for the moment, so Alfred prodded Arthur for more information, which the Gryffindor happily provided. Who knew that alcohol could work better than a Veritas charm? It was too bad that Arthur was too drunk for Alfred to even think about doing anything other than making sure they both got back to Hogwarts safely.

"You know, my parents are coming to London for Christmas and renting a house. They said I could bring a friend... think you'd be interested?"

Arthur blinked. "Aren't we sup'post to date 'fore I meet your parents?"

Alfred blushed. "I didn't mean... I mean... dating would be nice. Yeah." He took a quick sip of the ginger beer and wished it was cold instead of room-temperature so that it could cool down his cheeks. He fumbled for a less embarrassing subject, "So anyway how come you can see magical creatures that other wizards can't?"

"Fairies don't care if you can't do magic, they show up if you bell... believe. My mum weren't a witch, but she could see fairies. Stupid wizards don't _think_ everything about magic like they _know_."

Alfred blinked and reordered the words until they made sense. He nodded and grinned. "I see. Okay, next question. What was up with the teacup?"

Arthur blinked. "Teacup?"

"Yeah, when you flew around with the snitch and teacup!"

"Wanted to em... impress you," Arthur admitted.

"It worked. Although you didn't need a teacup."

"Mmm," Arthur murmured. His eyelids lowered to half-mast, and his green eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. He looked adorable, other than the part where he seemed close to passing out on the floor amidst the pools of spilled drinks.

"Maybe we should stop while you're still upright," Alfred suggested. Actually, he probably should have stopped Arthur a few drinks ago, but he didn't really want to fight with the smashed Brit.

"No, don' wanna," Arthur slurred, swaying to his feet as he leaned close to Alfred. The smell of rum hung in the air between them, adding to the tense atmosphere. Arthur licked his lips as he leaned forward.

Alfred held his breath in anticipation, waiting eagerly for the promised kiss, but the English boy never made it. As he leaned in, Arthur overbalanced and collapsed against Alfred's chest. Unready for the extra weight, Alfred tipped backward and crashed to the floor, the bar stool clattering to the side. The entire room turned to stare at their drunken antics, making Alfred blush in embarrassment. Arthur had clearly gone past the point of embarrassment, which was probably for the best because he had landed in a crumbled position with his face near Alfred's crotch.

"Heads up!" the bartender called, tossing a small object Alfred's way.

With a seeker's reflexes, Alfred glanced up and caught the thrown bezoar. He rolled Arthur onto his side and pushed the small, magical stone into the Arthur's mouth. It would prevent puking, but it wouldn't do much for his intoxication.

"Whazzit?" Arthur asked. He looked confused as Alfred helped him to his feet, but seemed content to hold onto Alfred as they walked to the front of the bar. Alfred bit his lip, trying to figure out how to carry two people on two broomsticks, when one of those people was completely wasted.

"Got some duct tape?" Alfred asked the bartender after he paid for their drinks.

The bartender didn't have the wonderful muggle invention of duct tape, despite its near magical properties. But he did give Alfred some twine. The American half-carried Arthur out the front door and summoned their brooms from the shack. For being a lightweight, Arthur was heavier than he seemed. It might have been the extra years. Arthur slumped against the wall while Alfred deftly tied the brooms together.

Pleased with his work, he helped Arthur onto the waiting broomsticks. "Hey, Artie. Think you can manage to hold on to the broom on your own?" he asked.

"Broom?" Arthur asked. "Snitch!" he cried. Believing that he was playing a Quidditch game, Arthur took off, weaving erratically. Alfred tried to grab the brooms' bristles, but missed and landed on the ground.

"Shit!" Alfred cried as he watched Arthur fly away. He jumped to his feet and chased after the Gryffindor. "Arthur! Come back!"

Arthur glanced back and giggled, waving as he left Alfred in the dust.

Alfred pumped his legs and panted as he ran down the street, trying to catch up with his only ride back to the castle. He shouted at Arthur, not even caring if he woke up the Hogsmeade residents. But he could see that Arthur was moving too fast. Pulling his wand from his robe, Alfred silently apologized. "Confundo!" he said, aiming the spell at Arthur. The boy jerked and then hovered in the middle of the street.

With a bit of coaxing, Alfred managed to convince the confused young man to return to the ground. He hated using the confundus charm, but it was the only jinx that had occurred to him in his desperation to stop Arthur from flying away. With a breath of relief, he mounted the broom behind Arthur and wrapped one arm around the wizard to hold him steady.

As he steered, Alfred kept one of his arms securely positioned around Arthur's waist. He probably enjoyed the warm feeling of Arthur pressed against him more than he should. Alcohol made Arthur surprisingly pliant, but it presented its own problems. Alfred spent the entire broomride back thinking about what to do with the wasted Gryffindor.

"Hey, Artie, I can see Hogwarts now," Alfred said, glad that he'd found the way back on his own. Some of the mountains and lakes looked remarkably similar. And Arthur, who alternated between drunken ranting and nodding off, wasn't providing much in the way of navigational assistance.

As he approached the castle, Alfred decided that the easiest course of action would be to let Arthur sleep it off in the Slytherin dormitory so he wouldn't get in trouble for being drunk and breaking curfew. The advantage to being the only sixth-year Slytherin boy was that Alfred got his own room. With some skillful flying, he managed to open his dormitory window, steer them both inside, and drop Arthur directly onto one of the empty beds.

Landing near the window, the American untied the broomsticks and leaned them against the wall. He wasn't sure where Arthur had gotten a new broomstick so quickly, until he checked the name and saw that it actually said "Peter Kirkland." The Slytherin grinned at the mental image of Arthur stealing his cousin's broomstick in order to go drinking.

"Some Prefect you are," he said laughingly to the other boy, who didn't respond from his sprawled-out position on the spare bed.

Alfred tripped over a few piles of clothing as he crossed the room to the spare bed. He bent down and shook Arthur by the shoulder. "Hey, Artie?" he said. "You going to help me take off your clothes?"

"Wha?" Green eyes blinked at him and tried to focus on his face.

Alfred blushed, realizing what he had said. "Coat! I just meant your coat. And belt and shoes." Alfred's blush deepened as his fingers brushed close to Arthur's body—undoing the buttons of Arthur's coat and unbuckling his belt. He tossed both coat and belt onto a nearby clothes pile on the floor after he removed them. By the time he had pulled off Arthur's shoes and added them to the pile, the Gryffindor was out cold. He looked peaceful and adorable and very kissable in his sleep. Alfred covered the sleeping young man with the Slytherin duvet.

"I was right. You _do_ know how to party," he said with a laugh.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

If you know what the title means, your house gets 20 points! (As a hint, "agley" means awry, and aft is only one letter off from its English translation.)

Second major plot change: I completely forgot about Scotland, N. Ireland, and Wales the first time around. Ooops. They exist in this universe as Arthur's older cousins! My headcanon is that England and Wales look a lot alike.

Arthur's Aries / Taurus comment refers to a kerfuffle in the astrology world a couple years back when scientists said that the signs weren't actually lined up with the constellations because of the tilt of the Earth and that every sign should move forward about a month. (This is called the "sidereal zodiac.") Astrologists countered that the Earth's tilt didn't actually make a difference in the way they calculated the signs (aka the "tropic zodiac"). Hence Arthur's confusion :)

...

_elizabeta H. Austria_: I'm glad you're enjoying the humor!

_crashing-avalanches_: Ah, thanks! I had some ideas that never made it into the earlier version, so I'm bringing them into this one.

_daydreamergirl260_: Sorry, Spain and Prussia are straight for this fic, so I'm sticking with SpaBel and PruHun because I want to limit the genderbending.

_Fire Bear1_: The Houses really are fun to think about, aren't they? I've been reading some interesting analysis, particularly of Slytherin. Put in its nicest terms, I like to think of the division as Intellect (Ravenclaw), Compassion (Hufflepuff), Practicality (Slytherin), and Courage (Gryffindor).

_octopus_: I'm not sure how an orphanage for kittens is actually different from a normal pet shelter, but I could see Al giving it a try ;)

_Marichinocherry_: I know! If only Arthur would listen to him...

_FangirlOfThe21st_: Yes, Kiku is the MASTER of subtle.


	8. A New Prefect

**Chapter VIII: The New Prefect**

Arthur groaned as he opened his eyes and cursed the sun for being so _bright_. Where was Britain's trademark cloudy weather when he needed it? His head pounded like a knocking charm and his mouth tasted of goat hair. Arthur swore, not for the first time, that he would never drink again. Still, it could have been worse. He could have woken up half-naked in the fountain in the front courtyard.

As he eased out of bed and waited for the room to stop spinning, Arthur blinked and looked around the empty bedroom. Panic welled in his chest as he realized that he was in the _Slytherin_ dorm, with no memory of how he traveled from Hogsmeade to the castle. Before he could start to fully panic, his full bladder reminded him of a more urgent need. In his stocking feet, Arthur padded around piles of dirty clothes (mentally scolding the room's owner for being so lazy) and paused at the door, opening it slowly to make sure the coast was clear. Fortunately, Slytherin followed a similar layout to the Gryffindor dorms, and Arthur was able to find the boy's bathroom even in his extremely hung-over state.

After taking care of his most pressing need, Arthur washed his face and examined the damage. He frowned at his red eyes, horrendous bedhead, and rumbled clothing in the mirror. He couldn't decide if he was hungry or nauseous. He groaned again. If he went back to his dorm in this state, everyone would know what he had done the night before. He looked—and _felt_—like shit.

Arthur leaned his head against the cool tile on the bathroom wall. The last thing he remembered was drinking with Alfred. So... Alfred must have been the one who brought him back. Arthur's heart pounded as he remembered flashes of Alfred flirting with him in the pub. He just hoped that he hadn't drunkenly embarrassed himself.

Even though he wanted to curl up in the nearest bed and slowly die, Arthur decided to return to Alfred's bedroom and try to find his broomstick. With any luck, he could return to his own dorm while the other students were at breakfast. He paused at the stairwell that led to the seventh-year dorms, overhearing an argument between familiar voices.

"...said very clearly that you shouldn't get involved with him."

"Well, you also told me to break the rules!"

"Yeah, but we meant break other people's rules! Not ours."

"Dios mío! I can't believe I actually thought that was Gavin."

"Oh? I thought the differences were évident. Gavin's hair is two shades darker and he can hold his liquor."

"Gott, this is embarrassing. We need to prank him back!"

"Don't you dare touch a hair on his head!"

"I agree with Alfred on this. No more pranks. We cannot target Kirkland. The professors are looking for a scapegoat, and will use anything to link us to the broom hex. We must be on our best behavior until Christmas."

"Ugh, fine. I'll _try_ to contain my awesomeness. But I still think you need to have a talk with this kid about doing what it takes to win the cup!"

"Look, I don't want a lecture. I just want to borrow your French press."

"Ah, let me. You tend to burn the coffee."

"So... was he any good?"

"Gil, he was _drunk_!"

"I'll take that as a no."

"No, it's not a no! It's an I-don't-know!"

"Ah-ha! Because you were drunk too. I knew it."

"Don't mind him, he is teasing. Here are your cups of perfectly brewed coffee."

"Thanks, Francis."

If Arthur didn't know that it was just Alfred coming down the stairs, he would have expected a herd of centaurs based on the noise. Alfred clearly wasn't expecting him to be waiting just inside the bedroom. The American nearly dropped the mugs of coffee as he entered the room and spotted Arthur waiting for him. Arthur clamped a hand over his mouth and gestured for silence. Stepping outside, he slammed Alfred's bedroom door shut, padded halfway up the stairs, and waited for the trio to resume talking.

"Franny, I know I've had my share of bad ideas... but letting our seeker date the Gryffindor seeker is terrible even by my standards."

"True, but there may still be some advantage for us. Just think of how upset the Gryffindors will be when they find out."

They laughed as Arthur fumed. The worst part was that they were right. He waited, hoping to hear more scraps of conversation, but it sounded like the trio was getting dressed for the day. Arthur silently descended the stairs and entered Alfred's room, taking care to open and close the door quietly. Alfred gave him a questioning look and handed him a cup of coffee. The American set his own cup of joe on the dresser and rifled through the top drawer looking for a clean pair of socks.

"Thanks," Arthur rasped. He drank the hot liquid slowly. He would have preferred tea, but any caffeine would help. With each sip, he felt significantly less peaky. Actually, he felt remarkably well compared to when he woke up. "Is this... a special sort of coffee?" he asked, giving the mug a calculating look.

Alfred grinned. "Yep! I added my special hangover-cure potion."

"My god, you should market this, you'd make millions." Feeling halfway human, Arthur smoothed his hair with his hands and tried to pat down his wrinkled clothing. He tried again to remember the blank portions of the previous evening, but it seemed that the cure didn't restore memories. He finally gathered his courage to ask the million-pound question, "What happened last night? Did we...?"

Alfred sat down on his bed and started to pull on his socks. He blushed. "No, we didn't anything. I brought you here because I wasn't sure how people would react if I dumped you into the Gryffindor common room."

"You don't even know the password," Arthur retorted, avoiding Alfred's gaze to hide his own embarrassment. As an older, wiser student and a Prefect he should have been sensible enough to stop drinking before he reached the point of falling-down drunk.

"Sure I do. It's 'tiddlywinks.' You mentioned it last night. You said that I better bloody deliver you to the right castle because there were too many of them in whales."

"Wales?"

Alfred shrugged. "Yeah, it didn't make sense to me either."

Arthur frowned, trying to piece together a coherent narrative from his jumbled memories. It wasn't fair that the amount of alcohol he needed to work up the courage to kiss Alfred was the same as the amount that caused him to black out. He remembered his initial attempts to flirt with the other boy and stumbling off the stool after making the decision to take Kiku's advice and just kiss Alfred. Everything after that was a blacked out blur, although it must have included a broomstick ride back to Hogwarts.

As soon as he thought of his broomstick, Arthur scanned the room to make sure that the American had remembered to bring back Arthur's broom, in addition to Arthur himself. The broom leaned against the wall—leading Arthur to realize that they had actually _flown_ directly into the dormitory. At least that solved the puzzle of how he was going to leave the Slytherin dorm without anyone realizing that he had spent the night.

"I got a whole room to myself because there aren't any other sixth year boys." Alfred said, misunderstanding why Arthur was inspecting the room. "It's a pretty nice set up, isn't it? I can put my stuff anywhere."

"It's a mess," Arthur said as he nearly tripped on one of the piles of clothing. He wondered where his belt and shoes had disappeared to. He saw his nice pea coat and picked it off the floor.

Alfred tossed a clean pair of socks at Arthur. "You weren't complaining last night."

Arthur caught the socks, then felt a pang of guilt as he saw the pout on Alfred's face. He was supposed to be a gentleman, but he hadn't even thanked Alfred for his assistance. "I'm sorry, Alfred," he murmured. "I do appreciate your help, and I'll get out of your hair once I find my shoes."

"I think I have a set of robes that shrunk in the wash," Alfred offered, as he began to dig through one of the clothing piles.

"Thanks," Arthur said, instead of making an acerbic comment that he wasn't _that_ short, and continued digging for his shoes near the bed he had used. He found both underneath the bed, pulled them out, and brushed off the dust.

"So what were you thinking for our next date?" Alfred asked casually.

With a loud thud, the shoes fell from Arthur's fingers to the floor. His head whipped around as he turned to stare at Alfred. "_What_?"

"Remember? We were gonna have a few dates before you met my parents."

"I... we... _what_?" Arthur sat down heavily on the bed as he gawked at Alfred. Now that the other boy mentioned it, he did remember a vague discussion of the Christmas holiday and something about an extra bedroom. Wishing he remembered what he had said and done the night before, Arthur hid his face in his hands. "I am _never_ drinking again," he muttered.

"Hey, Artie. Calm down, it wasn't anything major." The mattress shifted as Alfred sat down next to him. "My folks are coming to London for Christmas break. Since they're renting a house with a few extra bedrooms, they told me I could bring a friend."

Arthur didn't know whether to be flattered or incredulous. He settled on both. "And you invited _me_? Even after the way I acted last night?"

Alfred laughed. "Are you kidding, Artie? You were great! I don't think I've had that much fun outside of a Quidditch game in years."

"Thanks... I think." Keeping his face buried in his hands, Arthur felt the blood rush to his cheeks. The rest of his body warmed up as Alfred snaked an arm around his waist, pressing them together from thigh to shoulder. Arthur felt a little giddy at the sudden affectionate contact, or perhaps he was still a bit tipsy from the night before. Either way, his stomach had decided to do some interesting aerobatics. "I had fun too," Arthur said softly, "...at least as far as I can remember."

"I'm just glad you're okay. Seeing your broom start to fall... god, that was the scariest thing. It was even scarier than the Halloween ghosts." Alfred sniffled.

Arthur raised his head to look at Alfred. He gently cupped the other boy's face with his hands and used his thumbs to dry the tears at corner of Alfred's eyes. "Sssh... it's all right," he murmured comfortingly.

Alfred's eyes crinkled as he smiled half-heartedly. "Sorry, this is all wrong. I should be comforting you."

"You did," Arthur reminded him. "You took me on a wonderful late-night, rule-breaking, underage-drinking trip to Hogsmeade. I quite forgot my troubles. And everything else."

Alfred's grin reappeared, brightening up the room. He laughed. "I'll bet. So did you enjoy being a sneak and fooling two-thirds of the trio?"

"Yes, yes I did. Though I almost wish it _had_ been one of those three who jinxed my broom. They were my best guess." Arthur sighed, not wanting to admit that there was another person he suspected. He liked and trusted Alfred, but there were certain things a Gryffindor had to handle on his own.

"How about you grab your deerstalker cap and I can get my scooby snacks and we'll go solve the mystery!" Alfred suggested excitedly. "I bet it was the butler."

Arthur chuckled. "Honestly, Alfred. If you think that _you_ going around asking about the hexed broomstick is going to cause anything other than trouble, you've still got a lot to learn about Hogwarts. And the castle doesn't have a butler."

"All right, fine. Can you at least explain what was up with that Gavin stuff?"

"Oh, I'm afraid it's complicated," Arthur admitted, though it felt nice to open up to Alfred. "The short of it is that Peter isn't my _only_ cousin. I have three older cousins who were all sorted into Slytherin House. The Kirklands are a very old, very _pure_ wizarding family. Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert are all from similarly 'pure' families, so they've known each other since they were children."

Alfred frowned. "But... I thought you were muggle-born?"

"That's right. My mother was a muggle, and my grandparents disowned my father. I didn't actually meet them until after my parents died." Arthur didn't try to sugarcoat the truth, though it wasn't the full story. It didn't hurt as much anymore to tell people the basics, but he didn't feel in the mood to explain it all to Alfred at the moment.

"Holy shit," Alfred muttered. "No wonder you don't like your guardians, Artie." Even after hearing only a small part of the story, Alfred's expression showed his anger at Arthur's aunt and uncle, displaying a new level of protectiveness that gave him a determined glint in his eyes and a hard line to his jaw. Arthur didn't need the protection (other than when he was drunk), but he thought it was a good look for Alfred. It made him seem more mature. As Alfred enveloped him in a hug, Arthur decided that he was really starting to enjoy the physical warmth of having someone hold him close. Or perhaps it was just Alfred's proximity that he craved. His family had never been much for hugs, so it felt unusual, but rather nice.

Arthur eventually pulled away with genuine regret. "Well, thank you for everything, but I think I should be getting back to my own dorm before breakfast ends." As much as he enjoyed the comfort of leaning against Alfred's side, he knew that his roommates would eventually begin to wonder where he was.

Alfred sighed, but he nevertheless stood up and found Arthur the promised robe. Slipping it on, Arthur used a simple spell to change the collar from green to red. At least now he could return to his room with none the wiser. He grabbed his broom and mounted it near the window. "When shall we two meet again?" he asked.

"Our usual study time? Tomorrow at the library?" Alfred suggested.

"Perfect," Arthur agreed as he mounted his broom. "Oh, and it's probably best if you don't mention our Christmas plans to anyone."

Alfred nodded and waved goodbye. With his normal grace, Arthur tossed open the window and flew quickly to his own dorm's window, hoping that no one was watching the outside of the castle. Fortunately for him, the seventh-year Gryffindor bedroom was empty as he landed and stashed the broom under his bed. He wanted to have it available if Alfred proposed any more late-night adventures.

Looking at the engraved name on the broom, Arthur sighed to himself. He had his suspicions, but he wasn't ready to confront his cousin.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Great news! I have a friend planning to come to London! I really think you're going to like him. His name's Arthur Kirkland and he's also a Quidditch player. He's really smart and funny. Don't ask about his parents though, they're dead.  
_

_See you in two weeks!_

_Love,  
Alfred_

* * *

"You seem in a good mood," Madeleine commented at the end of their charms class. They walked together through the crowds of students heading eagerly to lunch.

"I'm _really_ looking forward to Christmas break," Alfred agreed.

"Oh, do you have fun plans?"

"Yeah! It's going to be great, I'm spending it with..." Alfred caught himself just before he said 'Arthur.' He panicked. "My parents!"

Madeleine arched an eyebrow. "You're really that excited to see your parents? Are you sure you're a teenager, Al?"

"Of course I'm glad to see them. They cook me food, Maddie. Delicious, delicious food." Pleased with his save, Alfred decided to change the topic. "What about you? Headed back to Canada?"

She smiled and hugged her books to her chest. "Well, I _was_ planning to stay at Hogwarts over break... but Francis's parents have a château in Normandy..."

Alfred bumped her shoulder encouragingly. "That sounds nice. Other than the speaking French part and figuring out which knife is the fish knife, but I bet you'll be good at that."

"You don't think it's too fast, do you?" she asked, pausing near the Hufflepuff table as they entered the Great Hall together.

"Nope! Not at all," Alfred replied with a grin.

* * *

The Christmas tree in the Gryffindor room had been decorated in gold and red, with a few presents underneath for the students who planned to stay at the castle for the holidays. Arthur smiled to himself as he admired the beautiful evergreen, remembering fondly the many Christmases he had spent at school instead of going to stay with his aunt and uncle. Hogwarts felt more like home then their house did.

"Looking forward to the quiet of the holidays?" one of his fellow prefects asked as she paused to admire the lovely tree. The entire room looked festive with its roaring fireplace, but the tree and its ornaments were the beautiful centerpiece.

"Hopefully not _too_ quiet," Arthur replied, smiling to himself. He couldn't imagine that a holiday with Alfred as company would ever be quiet. He was looking forward to having a chance to spend time with the other boy without the twin pressures of their houses and Quidditch weighing them down. It would be relaxing and wonderful to just be themselves and see what developed.

She grinned. "I don't think you need to worry about too much quiet. John was trying to teach his frog to croak Christmas carols."

Arthur winced. "Oh dear, how's that going?"

"Not too badly. He managed jingle bells. You know, croak-croak-croak. Croak-croak-croak. Croak-_croak_-croak-cra-croak."

Arthur sighed. "He'd be doing better in transmutation if he spent that much time practicing his spells."

"Spoken like a true Prefect," she replied with a laugh. "Oh, and your cousin was looking for you earlier. He seems a bit under the weather, poor boy."

"I'll check on him," Arthur promised, trying to muster up some compassion for his bratty cousin. When that failed, he reminded himself that he had a duty as prefect to watch out for all of the students, even the bratty ones. Still, Arthur took his time before climbing the stairs to the first year's bedroom. He opened the door and, at first, thought the room was empty until he realized that his cousin was curled under his duvet. Arthur crossed the room and pulled back the cover. "Peter, do you need to go to the nurse's office?"

Peter sniffled and shook his head. "No, no it's not... I'm fine."

"It's all right if you need some Pepperup Potion," Arthur said, his voice softening as he noticed Peter's red eyes. "The nurse has a fresh batch. Peppermint flavored, I hear."

"I don't think it'd help," Peter said. He stretched to reach for his night stand and pulled a pouch out of the top drawer. He offered it to Arthur. The pouch jingled as Arthur took it, and he had to sit down on Peter's bed when he saw what was inside—dozens of golden galleons. It was probably more money than he had ever held at one time.

Arthur gasped. "Peter, how did you get this much money?"

"I sold my Remembrall and all of my Gobstones and my new pair of Omnioculars. I think it's enough. It_ is_ enough, isn't it?" he asked, tears starting to well in the corner of his eyes.

"You mean... enough to replace my broomstick?"

Peter sniffled, and then did something that completely surprised Arthur. The younger boy burst into tears. "I'm sorry!" he wailed between sobs. "I didn't _mean_ for it to break! I just wanted to slow it down so they'd replace you."

"So you didn't want me to plummet to my death, you just coveted my spot on the Quidditch team? Oh, that makes it so much better," Arthur snarked.

Peter buried his face in his pillow, dampening the sound of his crying. "Please, Arthur, I'm sorry," he mumbled into the pillow, his voice broken by hiccups and sobs. "I just wanted... I wanted other students to recognize me!"

Arthur felt a smidgeon of pity for the younger boy. He understood what it felt like to be a complete nobody, but it didn't excuse Peter's behavior. "Peter... don't you think it would have hurt me to lose my spot on the team? You _did_ mean to injure me, you just meant for it to be emotional rather than physical."

The boy went quiet for several moments. He raised his head from the pillow and blinked at Arthur. "I didn't think about that," he admitted.

"You _should_ think about it," Arthur admonished. "Isn't that what they teach you? 'Skele-Gro will fix my bones, but there's no cure for words that hurt me,'" he added, quoting a wizarding children's rhyme. It wasn't _entirely_ true, there were always memory erase potions that could ease a mental hurt, but certainly it was much easier to address the hurts that people could see easily, as opposed to the ones kept hidden away.

Peter nodded and wiped his nose. "I'm sorry. I promise, I won't ever try to do anything like that again."

"I dare say you won't. I'm taking you to the headmaster for your punishment." Arthur grabbed Peter's hand and pulled him out of bed. He let go of his hand as they walked down the stairs together and let the boy trail behind him in silence.

The festivity of the decorations in the castle hallways provided a cheerful counterpoint to their solemn trek to the headmaster's office. Arthur's steps slowed as he remembered what the Headmaster had promised to do. Peter _deserved_ to lose his Quidditch and Hogsmeade privileges permanently, but would the Headmaster really go through on his threat to lower Gryffindor's Quidditch score by one hundred points? Would he feel honor-bound to follow through on his promise, or would he decide that Peter's youth called for a lesser punishment? More importantly, could Arthur take that risk? One hundred points would probably lose them the cup and would ruin Arthur's chances of getting selected for a professional Quidditch team.

Arthur stopped in the middle of the hallway, causing Peter, whose gaze was focused on the floor, to bump into his back. He turned around to face his cousin. "You aren't going to beg me to stop? No threats of what your parents might do?"

"No." Peter shook his head. "I deserve it."

"Then why didn't you go to the headmaster on your own?"

Peter's expression looked pained. "I was scared at first. And what if he takes off those Quidditch points? The other students would _kill_ me!"

Arthur sighed, suddenly uncertain of the best course of action. He wanted Peter to be disciplined, but the entire house (Arthur included) didn't deserve to also be punished for one boy's mistake. Peter had recognized what he did was wrong, had apologized, and had even sold off his own belongings to make sure that Arthur would have a new broom. Arthur reached a decision. "Peter... why did the hat sort you into Gryffindor?"

The boy looked up in surprise. "Because I want to be like you!"

"There's more to Gryffindor than winning Quidditch matches, you know. We're the house of fairness, chivalry, and respect for the rules. So this is what I want from you: study hard, help your fellow students, and be a model Gryffindor. Can you do that for me, Peter?"

The boy nodded. He looked surprised as Arthur turned around and started walking back the way they came. "Aren't we going to the Headmaster's office?" Peter asked.

"No, I just wanted to be sure you wouldn't try to wiggle out of it," Arthur smoothly replied. "Be a good Gryffindor, and that's good enough for me."

Arthur thought that Peter was out of surprises by that point, but the boy found one more way to shock his older cousin. He ran forward and hugged Arthur about the waist. Arthur patted the boy on the back awkwardly and felt relieved when Peter pulled away. Well, that answered one question. It seemed that Arthur's new-found love of hugs _was_ just limited to hugs from Alfred.

* * *

With no new antics from Peter or the Bad Friends Trio, the remaining weeks leading up to Christmas break passed remarkably smoothly for Alfred and Arthur. They didn't have as much time to spend together as Alfred would like, but during their stolen hours in the library, Alfred discovered that he was suddenly aware of Arthur's every movement. His skin would tingle when Arthur brushed past and sometimes he had to ask Arthur to repeat something because he had been distracted by the way Arthur's fingers gracefully held a pen, or the slight quirk of the other boy's lips when Alfred made a joke.

Arthur's potions skills progressed by leaps and bounds, while Alfred managed to develop a grudging respect for divination, even if he still thought most of it was a load of hooey. Even history didn't sound so dry when Arthur was the one explaining it. So Alfred spent most of his classes wearing a happy grin, fortunately, most people accepted the explanation that he was just really, _really_ excited for the holidays.

Before he knew it, Alfred arrived at his final class before Christmas break: potions. The professor smiled at her class. "Since it's almost time for some late-night celebrations, we're going to make Wideye Potion today. Can someone tell me what it does?"

Alfred's hand shot in the air. "It helps keep someone awake for up to 48 hours. It also can be used to awaken people from magical slumber."

"Excellent, ten points to Slytherin!"

Alfred beamed and earned another ten points for his house when he brewed the potion perfectly. It wasn't surprising that he was good at brewing that particular potion—he used it himself whenever he needed to pull all-nighters before exams. After class the professor gestured for Alfred to come over to her desk.

"Alfred, I really must compliment you," she said cheerfully.

"Thanks!" Alfred happily accepted the praise, even though he wasn't entirely sure what he was being praised for.

"Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio have been remarkably well-behaved for the past two weeks," she continued. "I can see you've been a good influence. I was worried for the first few months of the year, but I think you've really turned things around."

"Yep," Alfred agreed cheerfully, glad that his professor didn't know about their curfew-breaking drinking trips. What happened in Hogsmeade, stayed in Hosgmeade.

"And that's why I thought you deserved this," she said, pushing a small box towards Alfred. He reached for it eagerly, always excited for presents. Inside he found a small silver badge with the letter P.

"P for Perfect?" he suggested.

She chuckled. "Almost. P for _Prefect_. I'm afraid I need all the help I can find keeping a handle on the students in our house. Don't worry yourself about the little rules—we're not the sort to be excessive rule-followers. But anything that could damage the reputation of the house as a whole is a concern to all of us." She paused and gave him a searching look. "Do you understand what I'm asking you do to, Alfred?"

"No," he admitted, feeling a little lost.

"I need to know that it wasn't anyone in our house who jinxed the Gryffindor's broom."

"Of course it wasn't!" Alfred protested loudly.

"I know that. But the headmaster and other professors have been on my back about it. So can you promise me that if you find out anything, you'll tell me?"

Alfred nodded. "I swear, if I find out it was someone in Slytherin you'll be the first to know," he said with utter conviction. As far as Alfred was concerned, nobody tried to hurt Arthur and got away with it.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Mystery solved! Well, I guess that's the end of that.

And ten points to either Slytherin or Ravenclaw, for Ember Hinote correctly identifying "Gang Aft Agley" as meaning "go oft awry." As in, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, with apologies to Robert Burns XD

...

_FangirlOfThe21st_: Fluffy flirting is the best, isn't it? :)

_crashing-avalanches_: I love writing Francis as a smart character. I think it's part of what makes him and Arthur excellent frenemies.

_octopus_: Not your fault, I made it more complicated than it needed to be. "Oft" isn't really a common English word, and I forgot to mention that "gang" is a false cognate.

_Ember Hinote_: Bingo! Ten points to your house, once you pick one. I love Alfred being in love with a slightly older Arthur.

_elizabeta H. Austria_: Thank you!

_Dolly-Doll-Face_: Yep, Peter is a troublesome twerp. Considering his character borrows from both Dudley Dursley and Peter Pettigrew, it seemed inevitable :)

_Fire Bear1_: Ahh! Thank you for pointing out the typos! I should list you as the honorary beta for this story, given the number you find. The difference between 'not' and 'now' is really an important one. (Smacks forehead.) And yes, Hufflepuffs _are_ the best. Pottermore sorted me in to Ravenclaw, but I think that if I were a better person, I'd be a Hufflepuff.

_Marichinocherry_: Yeah, it did seem a little silly to have a story set in Scotland without the character Scotland mentioned at least once! Thinking on it, I probably could have written a very similar version of this story with Arthur's three older brothers taking the place of the bad friends trio. That would have made more sense geographically. But I prefer writing the BFT, so here we are.


	9. On the Express

**Chapter VIX: The Hogwarts Express**

The train ride back to London felt a little like déjà vu. Alfred joined a compartment with Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert, and watched in amusement as they bewitched a collection of firecrackers, causing the small explosives to fly at students wandering the train corridors and explode loudly above their heads. They had soon succeeded in scaring five Gryffindors, three Ravenclaws, two younger Slytherins (they were, after all, equal opportunity pranksters), and one very confused toad.

As the Slytherin Prefect, Alfred was probably supposed to do something to stop it, but he loved firecrackers too much to do anything other than watch the loud explosions in amusement. Eventually the head boy arrived to confiscate their entire collection of firecrackers. The firecrackers exploded in his face as soon as he reached to grab them, ensuring that Slytherin House would start the new year with plenty of negative points.

"Aren't you supposed to be watching them?" the head boy asked Alfred with a huff of annoyance. He had made it very clear that he didn't like having a new Slytherin Prefect.

Alfred blinked guilelessly. "I am watching them."

"Then you are the most useless, stupid Prefect I have ever met." The head boy tossed his hands into the air. "Remember that you're on patrol with Kiku during the lunch shift," he growled before stalking away.

Deprived of their source of noisy fun, the trio drifted into discussing their plans for the two-week winter break. Alfred tuned out, choosing to spend the time thinking about his own holiday plans for London.

Alfred wasn't normally a clever, thoughtful, or cunning person. When someone told him to read the atmosphere, he went to the library. But being in Slytherin had improved his cunning abilities to the point where he realized that Arthur was much nicer when it was just the two of them. So it stood to reason that if he was ever going to have a chance with Arthur, it would be best to make his move over Christmas when they didn't have to worry about holding up their ends of the Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry.

And so Alfred's plans for Christmas were relatively simple: he planned to spend a lot of time with Arthur, have fun, and maybe, with a bit of luck and mistletoe, get a kiss. As much as he had been looking forward to kissing Arthur in the Hogsmeade bar, it occurred to him later that it was probably for the best that Arthur had fallen on top of him instead of finishing the kiss. Alfred was enough of a romantic to think that their first kiss should be something special and that it would be nice if Arthur was sober enough to remember it.

As the trolley of sweets made its mid-morning pass through the corridor, Alfred remembered that part of his duty as a newly minted prefect was to spend some time patrolling the train's corridors. He waved goodbye to his housemates and went to find Kiku's compartment. He walked along the train corridor, crossing from one train car to the next, smiling as he saw compartment after compartment filled with excited children. Everyone was looking forward to a relaxing break from classes, especially after the grueling mid-year tests just before Christmas.

Eventually, Alfred found what he was looking for. He paused outside the door, listening to the voice inside. Arthur's voice. The American could see Kiku through the wavy glass, but Arthur was blocked from view. Alfred shamelessly eavesdropped, intrigued by snippets he could hear.

"I'm not sure what possessed him to tell his parents. They were furious when they found out, but I suspect they'll soon find a way to twist it to be my fault. With any luck I can avoid them at the train station, given all the people milling about," Arthur said with a quiet sigh. The American leaned closer, wondering who could be upsetting the other boy. Only Alfred was supposed to tease Arthur like that!

Kiku nodded. He brushed back his hair, his gesture suggesting that Arthur try a disguise. Alfred suddenly wondered what Arthur would look back with slicked-back hair. Perhaps he'd look a bit like Bond, James Bond. He certainly had the accent for it.

The Gryffindor laughed. "It'd work better for you than for me, I'm afraid. Speaking of which... has my reading come true yet?" he asked. "I'd like to meet her when it does."

Kiku blushed. The Ravenclaw boy's eyes flickered to Alfred, and Alfred knew that he had been caught eavesdropping. He wondered if Kiku had just noticed him or if Kiku had been aware of his presence since he arrived. Either way, there was no point in continuing to stand outside, so he pushed open the door and grinned at the occupants. As he stepped in, the American kicked something on the ground. The object rolled across the floor to Arthur's feet. Alfred recognized it as one of the firecrackers the Slytherin trio had tried to set off earlier. He bent down to pick it up, but Arthur grabbed it first.

"A damp squib," Arthur said as he flattened his lips into a line in an expression of distaste. Apparently the Gryffindor student didn't care for noisy firecrackers. Given the young man's obvious love of quiet and dislike of pranks, Alfred wasn't surprised.

The American sat down next to Arthur and reclaimed the firecracker. "Yeah, guess it's a dud," he agreed, sticking it in his pocket to throw away later.

"Did you know that's what they call the children of wizarding parents who can't do magic themselves? Squibs."

Alfred shrugged. He had never really thought about the non-magical children of wizarding parents before. Most of them went to normal boarding schools so they could learn how to live outside the wizarding world. But it seemed wrong to call them 'squibs,' even though he couldn't explain why. Normally Alfred would have shrugged again and given up, but Arthur's expression told him that this was important. After a few moments, the American finally said, "Most of the people in the world can't do magic. That makes them normal. We're the strange ones... like x-men or superheroes!"

Arthur chuckled. "An equalitarian Slytherin, who would have thought."

"Yeah, I guess we're about as rare as Gryffindors who don't have a stick up their ass," the American retorted, slipping back into insult-mode to hide the sting from the back-handed compliment. He would have thought that Arthur, as a muggle-born, would feel some sympathy for squibs.

"Excuse me for wanting people to follow the rules," Arthur snapped. "Perhaps you should work on being better about that yourself!"

"Geez, it's a boarding school. It's only fun if you break rules some of the time."

They would have kept at it, but Kiku tugged Alfred's sleeve and pointed to his prefect badge, reminding the Slytherin that they were supposed to be patrolling the train corridors, not getting into fights with other prefects.

"Okay, okay," the American agreed as he stood up and left. It was probably for the best that the head boy had assigned him and Kiku to work together. If he were walking the corridors with Arthur they would spend more time squabbling than making sure that the students weren't getting into trouble. Francis called it unresolved sexual tension; Alfred suspected that he was right.

Kiku led the way up and down the hallway. They prevented two students from engaging in a wizard's duel in the train corridor, fixed a broken set of spectacles caused by falling books, and tried to hide their chuckles as some first-years discovered a particularly nasty flavor of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. (This was why Alfred stuck to skittles—he liked colorful candy that reliably tasted like pure sugar.)

Near the end of the train, they found a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor arguing over a toad. Each insisted that they owned the amphibian, even when placed under the Veritas charm. For some reason, they both believed that the toad belonged to them.

Alfred rubbed the back of his head and turned to Kiku for advice. The Ravenclaw made a chopping motion with his hand and pantomimed giving each student half of the toad. Alfred nodded eagerly. "That's a great idea! You two can split the frog."

"Are you _insane_?" the Hufflepuff girl asked with bulging eyes. "You can't do that!"

"I think it's fair," the other girl replied.

Kiku plopped the animal into the Hufflepuff's hands and turned to leave. The American tried to figure out how Kiku realized it was her pet, and then he decided that it really didn't matter if it was hers, since she would clearly be the better owner.

"Dude, that was clever," Alfred said as he caught up with the other Prefect.

Kiku shrugged modestly.

"No, seriously. It was." Alfred bit his lip and asked quietly, "Do you think you could help _me_ solve a problem?"

The Ravenclaw nodded. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. He had spent some time trying to come up with a plan to kiss Arthur over Christmas break, but he couldn't decide which of his options was the best plan. First, he thought about setting up mistletoe and then 'conveniently' meeting Arthur under the plant. But he also tempted to try standing next to Arthur on New Year's Eve and kissing him at midnight. Alcohol was also an option, but only as a last resort, since Alfred wouldn't be able to use his broomstick to carry Arthur home from a crowded London pub.

"So, I've got this friend, and he wants to kiss someone over break. He's pretty sure the other guy likes him back, but he's not 100% sure, and I... _he_ doesn't want to upset the apple cart if Ar... the other guy's not interested. I've been thinking about what works in the movies. Do you think it's better to use mistletoe or the midnight kiss on New Year's?"

The Ravenclaw nodded and gave Alfred two thumbs up.

"Both of them?" Alfred rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That's a good idea." If nothing else, it would double his chances of success.

Kiku gestured for Alfred to follow him. He led the American back to his and Arthur's shared train compartment and pointed at the seat. Taking Kiku's meaning, Alfred sat down and waited. "What now?" he asked.

His question was soon answered. Arthur arrived moments later carrying a toad in one hand. "Are you two done with your shift?" he asked. "I found this poor fellow hopping around and could use a little help finding the proper owner..."

He didn't even finish his sentence before Kiku took the toad out of his hands and stepped outside the compartment door. He gave Arthur a look that Alfred couldn't decipher and then closed it with a firm click.

"...or you could find the owner for me," Arthur finished his sentence, watching in bemusement as Kiku disappeared down the corridor.

That left them alone in the compartment in an awkward silence. Alfred wondered if Arthur was still annoyed that he had called him a tight-ass earlier. He also wondered why he was so focused on Arthur's butt. Well, he didn't _really_ wonder. It was a very nice butt. He hoped that he would have a lot of opportunities to admire Arthur in muggle clothes as they walked around London. To be honest, Alfred probably wasn't going to pay any attention to the city itself. Not when Arthur was around, at least.

Arthur breathed out slowly and leaned against the closed door. "We should probably get a few things sorted out before we disembark," he said, turning to look at Alfred with a serious expression. "I don't want to talk about Quidditch or potions over break, and I want you to solemnly swear that this isn't some nefarious plot."

"No _Quidditch_?" Alfred whined. He pouted a little, put off that Arthur didn't want to talk about his favorite sport. But given their positions on rival teams, he supposed it made sense. What didn't make sense was this 'nefarious plot' business. Alfred tilted his head to the side. "Okay, okay, I promise no Quidditch talk. But I don't know what nefarious means."

Arthur sighed. "So much for _cunning_. It means plotting something behind my back," he explained, crossing his arms and giving Alfred a hard look.

"Wait! How'd you guess?" Alfred exclaimed, wondering how Arthur figured out his brilliant mistletoe plot. Then it occurred to him: the Gryffindor had probably used tasseomancy to divine Alfred's plan. Stupid tea cups. Too busy caught in his own thoughts about tossing the untrustworthy tea into the nearest harbor where it couldn't ruin any more of his surprises, Alfred didn't notice how Arthur's eyes widened and his mouth formed an 'o' of shock. As the silence dragged on, he glanced up at Arthur again and was surprised to see the other boy looking even paler than normal. "Hey, Artie... you okay?" he asked. "I didn't realize you hated mistletoe."

"Mistletoe?" Arthur looked genuinely confused. "I've nothing against... wait, you were just plotting to sneak some kisses?" he asked slowly, looking warily at Alfred like he was a strange new magical creature, one that Arthur had never seen before and wasn't quite sure how to approach.

"Maybe," Alfred drawled, giving Arthur a sheepish grin. Despite the grin, he cringed inwardly, certain that Arthur was going to cancel on him at the last minute. He really wanted to spend time with the other boy, but he wasn't sure how to convince the skeptical Brit. He caught Arthur's gaze and gave the Gryffindor boy his most beseeching look, the one he used on his parents when he successfully convinced them to let him attend Hogwarts.

Arthur stared back, then, apparently reaching a decision, nodded to himself and took a few steps forward until he was directly in front of Alfred. He bent down so that they were at eye-level. "Why didn't you just say so?" he asked.

Arthur leaned forward until their noses almost touched. His green eyes focused on Alfred's lips, and his eyelids began to flutter shut. Alfred's blood pounded in his ears. Something had been bubbling in his chest ever since he first met Arthur, an incomplete potion slowly brewing over time. Interest and attraction, friendship and rivalry, intimacy and adventure. He recognized all of the individual ingredients, but it was the final one—the wistful tenderness in Arthur's eyes before they closed—that finally told him what it was. He was in love. And he was an idiot for not realizing it sooner

Arthur's lips were warm and soft, and even the slightest touch sent a jolt down Alfred's spine. Unsure what to do with his hands, he reached up to cup the back of Arthur's head, pulling the boy closer. At the same time, Arthur rested his hands on Alfred's shoulders and leaned his knee against the seat, giving them a better angle.

This kiss reminded Alfred of the very first time he had ridden a broomstick, combined with the joy of the first time he had caught the golden snitch. Flying through the air, a coil of excitement had uncurled in his stomach. He had felt weightless and free. The kiss gave him the same feeling, but warmer and more sensual, as he buried his fingers into Arthur's hair and tasted a hint of tea on his lips. He pulled back and admired Arthur's pink cheeks and the somewhat dazed expression in his eyes. Alfred wondered if he looked the same. He also wondered how Arthur had managed to push aside his doubts and find the courage to just kiss him.

And with that thought came another. Alfred lifted a finger to press against Arthur's lips, stopping the boy from closing the distance again. "You're not drunk are you?" he asked, remembering the last time that Arthur had almost kissed him.

Arthur's eyes snapped open, and he glared. Alfred assumed that meant 'no.'

"Sorry, just checking," Alfred said, offering Arthur an apologetic grin. "I didn't want you passing out again," he explained. As he saw the blush darken on Arthur's cheeks, he decided to try making the boy blush even further. Alfred grinned widely and winked. "Actually that's a lie. You can pass out on top of me _any time_ you want. I'm good at catching you, and I kinda like carrying you in my arms."

"I'm hardly going to swoon from a little kiss!" Arthur retorted indignantly, though his blush continued to deepen until his entire face was beet red. Alfred wondered when he had started to find blushes so attractive. Something about the red in Arthur's cheeks really brought out the green in his eyes, making him look feisty and gorgeous. "Now are you done ruining the mood?" Arthur asked tartly.

"I just wanted to make sure you'd remember our first kiss."

"I don't think there's any way I could forget it," Arthur promised, before kissing him again. Alfred thought the first kiss was spectacular, but the second one was even better. He wondered how many kisses it would take to reach the pinnacle of kiss perfection.

Before Alfred could find out, the train curved around a bend and the momentum pushed them against the wall. Voices grew louder as students walked down the train corridor, jolting them both into remembering that the train compartment had _glass_ doors, allowing anyone walking by to see them. They scrambled apart and tried to look like they had been doing something other than kissing madly. It seemed that the Hogwarts Express wasn't designed to accommodate the adventures of lovestruck teenagers.

"Wow," Alfred breathed, leaning against the plush seat. "We should... uh, do this again later," he suggested. It was hard to pull together proper sentences with his mind in almost as much disarray as his hair.

"Mmm, yes," Arthur agreed, although he looked like he would rather continue kissing on the train and damn the consequences. He shook his head as he plopped down next to Alfred. "Wait... what am I thinking? We're staying with your _parents_."

Alfred sighed. He could only hope that his parents would visit most of the London landmarks on their own and give him some alone time with Arthur.

Kiku rejoined them several minutes later and Alfred suspected that the Ravenclaw boy had deliberately taken his time in returning to the rail car.

"Did you return the toad?" Arthur asked.

Kiku nodded and smiled slightly, but he didn't ask them any questions. To be honest, Alfred wasn't sure if he could. At first Alfred thought the dark-haired boy was just very quiet, but now he was starting to wonder. Everyone else accepted Kiku's silence as natural, so Alfred didn't want to say anything wrong by bringing it up. For all he knew, Kiku had been cursed as a child with a very strong silencing charm. What was clear, however, was that Kiku and Arthur were good friends. Alfred decided that he wanted any of Arthur's friends on his side.

"Accio 3DS!" Alfred said, summoning his video game console from the suitcase that he had left in the trio's train compartment. He booted up Pokémon X, pleased that the Hogwarts charm that blocked the use of muggle technology at the castle hadn't disturbed his saved game. "Want to play?" he asked, offering the game to Kiku. "I haven't had much chance to play yet, but a friend traded me a Vulpix."

Kiku accepted the console hesitantly, though he was soon enthralled in the game. He bent over the console, giving Alfred and Arthur a chance to discuss their plans.

Alfred perused Arthur's list and read off the first few items. "British Museum. National Gallery. Westminster." He looked up at Arthur. "This list looks great—" Arthur smiled back "—for my parents. Come on, we need to do something fun!"

Arthur crossed his arms. "Well, what did _you_ have in mind?"

"Ooh, let's see a movie, eat fast food, and get ice cream! I've been dying for some soda. Then we should test-ride the latest broomstick models. I heard a new iBolt just came out." Alfred bounced on the seat, eager to try new broomsticks. He liked to upgrade at least once a year. Arthur looked less than thrilled by his suggestions, so Alfred offered an olive branch. "We could also get tea. They serve snacks with it, right?"

The Gryffindor student nodded. "Yes, but I thought you don't like scones,"

Alfred grinned. "No, I don't like _your_ scones. I'm sure regular ones are delicious."

"You are such a prat."

Alfred stuck out his tongue and then laughed as Kiku rolled his eyes. The two bickered a while longer and then spent an enjoyable hour comparing their favorite movies. Arthur loved the classics while the American preferred horror and westerns. Alfred even extracted a promise from Arthur that they would find time to watch the Star Wars movies.

The American glanced out the window and noticed the outskirts of London coming into view as the countryside grew rapidly more populated. He stood up to leave and accepted his game console back from Kiku. "Have a nice holiday!" he told Kiku. To Arthur he said, "I need to grab my stuff and say 'bye to Madeleine. I'll meet you on the muggle side."

The trio's compartment was empty by the time Alfred reclaimed his bags, but for once he didn't have any trouble finding Madeleine. She stood near Francis and Antonio, who both looked extremely amused as they watched Gilbert play with a blond toddler. Even on the crowded platform, the trio stood out for their noisiness and unusual looks.

Gilbert spotted Alfred approaching and waved him over. "Al! Say hello to Ludwig, the most awesome baby brother in the world!"

Alfred waved at the child. "Hi, there!"

The boy nodded. "Hello," he said with a serious expression.

"It's hard to tell they're related," Francis mused.

"I think Gil got all the fun genes," Antonio agreed.

While Gil continued to coo over Ludwig, Alfred grinned at Madeleine and handed her a poorly wrapped present from his bag. "Merry Christmas, Maddie!"

"Do you want me to open it now?" she asked. At Alfred's eager nod, she carefully unwrapped the package, taking her time to preserve the paper. She smiled when she saw the bottle of maple syrup inside. "Oh, thank you! I was worried that Francis's family wouldn't have any on hand." She handed him a much more carefully wrapped present.

He ripped it open and gasped in excitement. "Quidditch goggles!" He immediately put them on top of his head, even though he was still wearing his glasses. "Thanks!"

Maddie giggled at the ridiculous sight and didn't notice as Kumarie snuck up behind her and reached for the bottle of maple syrup.

"Your bear!" Ludwig warned.

"No, Kumarie!" Maddie cried, pulling the bottle out of reach. She quickly stuffed the maple syrup into her bag and profusely thanked Gilbert's younger brother for his help. The bear sighed in disappointment.

"I told you he was smart." Gilbert grinned proudly, lifting his little brother onto his shoulders. Gil laughed as Ludwig pointed out that they were going to be late.

"Are you sure they're related?" Madeleine asked as Gilbert weaved through the crowded platform with Ludwig on his shoulders.

"They're a strange pair, but hardly the strangest, non?" Francis replied, giving Alfred a knowing look that the American completely failed to notice.

She smiled. "I suppose you're right. Have a wonderful Christmas, Al!"

"You too, Maddie!" Still wearing his Quidditch goggles on top of his head, Alfred waved goodbye and dashed along the platform, excited for his plans with Arthur.

* * *

Arthur thought he had succeeded in avoiding his aunt, uncle, and cousin on the train platform, but he found them waiting to ambush him on the muggle side. He forced a smile as they approached. As much as he disliked his relatives, he was too much of a gentleman to snub them on the platform. Plus, he would likely end up in trouble with the Ministry of Magic if he decided to hex them with all of the muggles around.

His aunt smiled back, her expression equally fake. He knew she only wore the look of concern for the sake of any nearby onlookers. Her voice was soft and saccharine. "Oh, Arthur. Goodness! I was worried you would slip off before we had a chance to see you. Are you sure you don't want to spend Christmas with us?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, gritting his teeth.

"I'm sure Peter would love for you to stay," his uncle added in a deep rumbling voice. He sounded a bit like a walrus and looked like one too.

"Dad, I think Arthur should do what he wants," Peter said softly, standing up for his cousin. His mother looked down at him in surprise.

"Oh, very well then. Although I hope no one thinks us bad guardians because you don't want to stay with us. Here's your present, Arthur." She handed him a small package.

Arthur watched them leave and felt his stomach clench in anger. "This better be a signed permission slip for Hogsmeade," he muttered to himself.

While he examined the package, Arthur wasn't paying attention to the people around him. He jumped as a gentle hand rested on his shoulder. He jerked his head to the side and his surprised gaze met Alfred's worried face. "You okay?" Alfred asked.

Arthur nodded. "Well enough, although I wonder what useless trinket they bought me this year. They often don't bother, they must be feeling guilty."

"Hey, at least they got you a present."

Arthur sighed and stuffed the present into his suitcase. "You shouldn't confuse the trappings of affection for the real thing."

"So they give bad gifts, huh?" Alfred said sympathetically. "My grandma does too. She kept giving me tongue-tying toffee every year. I don't even like toffee!"

"Perhaps she just wanted a few moments of silence?" Arthur suggested.

Alfred's eyes widened. "Oooh... that makes sense."

Arthur sighed. "You _do_ know that you're wearing goggles on top of your head?" he asked Alfred as they began to make their way through King's Cross station.

"Yep! They look awesome, don't they?"

"They make you look like a prat," Arthur said, but his eyes were smiling so Alfred decided to take it as a compliment.

Their first order of business was making their way to the Victorian-style rowhouse that Alfred's parents had rented from an older wizarding couple who liked to travel to the Spanish Riviera for the winter. They couldn't apparate there, since neither had never been to the location before, so they would have to take the underground. Arthur stopped by a vending machine and purchased two sets of tickets for the tube. Alfred stared at the machine in delight, watching in amusement as Arthur punched the right buttons.

"You're lucky I have some spare pounds," Arthur said. "We'll need to swing by Diagon Alley to have our galleons changed for pounds."

Alfred nodded. "Good! We can do some broom shopping too." The two boys stopped about magic talking as they entered the crush of people entering the tube. Nearly any conversation could be explained away by claiming that it was about a video game, but there was no point in needlessly raising suspicions.

They rode north a few stations and got off on Holloway Road. Arthur led the way to a street that didn't appear on muggle maps. At first the rowhouses looked the same as any other, but on close inspection, a few differences revealed themselves. These houses had open attic windows to let in owls and broomstick racks in the front for visitors. Alfred bounced up to the right house and used a special unlocking charm to open the door.

It was a nice, solid home, and had probably been built by a large family that wanted to avoid muggles after the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy went into effect. It had old wood floors, plenty of windows, and seemed to be larger on the inside than the outside. (A common feature of most wizard homes.)

The two young wizards explored the top floor and picked adjoining bedrooms, leaving the master bedroom for Alfred's parents. Arthur set his bag next to the dresser and placed his clothes into the drawers, taking care to hide the presents near the bottom. He entered Alfred's room a few moments later, and was surprised to find that the American had already strewn his clothing about.

"The room a chest of drawers, you know," he noted, pointing to the antique piece of wooden furniture sitting unused next to the pile of clothing.

Alfred lounged on the bed and grinned. "I like 'em where I can see 'em," he replied.

"They're clothes, Alfred. They're not going to run away."

"I don't know, my socks seem to disappear pretty regularly."

Arthur sat down next to Alfred on the bed. "When are your parents arriving?" he asked with a calculated casualness.

"Not for another few hours."

Arthur smiled to himself and inched closer to Alfred. His concerns about messy piles of clothing suddenly seemed less important. "In that case, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked, arching his handsome eyebrows.

Alfred grinned. He leaned forward and, without saying a word, showed that he was.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

No, Alfred, Arthur was thinking that it was time to take over the world. But I suppose kisses are an acceptable substitute.

I also have a bit of bad news: I'm afraid life is conspiring to keep me very busy for the next three weeks, so I think the next update won't be until the second week of December. Apparently "normal" people don't accept "I have to write gay fanfiction on the internetz" as a good reason to let me skip out on family events. Sorry for the delay!

...

_elizabeta H. Austria_: Hehe. Yes, Peter and Alfred are going to have some interesting interactions once they get back to Hogwarts.

_FangirlOfThe21st_: Gilbert didn't think they had, but it turns out that teasing Alfred is almost as much fun as teasing Arthur :)

_Marichinocherry_: Thank you!

_octopus_: Yes, Gryffindor still has a good chance of winning. I think we all know that the final match will have to be Slytherin vs. Gryffindor :)

_Fire Bear1_: Ah, thank you! And thanks again for pointing out the typos. You're absolutely right about the Shakespeare/Pratchett reference, I was thinking of both of them when I put it in, since they are two of my favorite authors. Good catch!

_GlassCase_: Yeah, I left it out in the first version because I thought it pulled away from the Alfred/Arthur story, but I think having more Alfred/Peter tension will be interesting since Alfred is the one trying to enforce the rules after Peter broke them :)

_Ember Hinote_: Yes, Inspector Alfred is on the case. Nothing will distract him! (Well... nothing other than Arthur's kisses, food, and presents.) But once Christmas is over, I'm sure he will work very hard to figure out who tried to hurt Arthur!

_FORDGE_: They have two Prefects from each house every year for 5th years and up, one girl and one boy, so actually Alfred is just the first _male_ Prefect from Slytherin for the past few years. Glad you're enjoying the story!

_CieloFiamme_: Good point, I can't believe I forgot about Gilbert's brother! I hope you like young, serious Ludwig. Would you believe that there's a cute little Italian girl at his preschool? XD

_kiiroiyuuri_: Yep, I'm happier with the new resolution between Peter and Arthur. Glad you're enjoying it too!

_EveningBlack_: Thanks!

_Bob_: Thank you! Yeah, Peter is a brat, but he certainly didn't mean to _kill_ his cousin. I think it came as a wake-up call to him, so we'll be seeing a slightly nicer Peter.


End file.
